The Prince and the Servant
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: The King of Terra summons two graduates to give them some counsel before they set out among the stars. He tells them of a history - and a romance - from Terra's past that inspired the change that allowed these two graduates to sit before him to receive it. That bond formed the cornerstones for some of Starfleet's highest, most important directives. (Kirk/Spock Cinderella story)
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer/Note:**__ Firstly, as usual, I do not own Star Trek – or anything recognizable in this story. Anything you do not recognize, however…I obviously made up. For example, this odd societal practice that I don't really bother to explain beyond this brief note: In this alternate universe world, transportation methods depend on one's social class/standing, and ancient traditions were never really dismissed as archaic. The lower classes have means of transport like bicycles or they travel on foot. Horses and carriages are traditions for the nobility on Terra. Only the royalty have hovercars, and they also own all spaceports and space-faring vessels. _

_Based on/Following closely with a certain Cinderella Film from 1998. After a recent rewatch of it, it demanded I adapt it in a Kirk/Spock version. It just fit too well. Also, considering my excitement for the release of the fantastic Sondheim brilliance of Into the Woods, I figured this was a great way to maybe build up others' excitement – by presenting a decent Prince Charming. I'm hoping to have this finished before that film's release, but we shall see. I'm also dealing with finals at the moment, so that's limiting my writing time. Anyway, onward, readers! Thank you for reading, as always. ~ RK _

**The Prince and the Servant **

**Prologue**

Starfleet Academy had certainly never advised command students, Jean-Luc Picard and William Riker, of the possibility of being summoned before the Terran Monarch while they had still been students. They hadn't even known such a summons was possible until moments after the ceremony that awarded them command aboard the exploratory and diplomatic vessel, the _U.S.S. Enterprise._ Picard and Riker had been approached by the Royal Steward just after leaving the ceremony and informed that they were expected at the Palace. A hovercar would arrive for them.

Picard had been from generations upon generations of wine-makers, the lower class, however. They did not own the winery or the estate upon which the countless grapes were grown and harvested. But he'd shown promise and interest in something other than making wine for the nobles of Terra, and so he had – with a little convincing – managed to be the first to step away from the soil and fruits and pursue his own dreams. Riker had been from similar circumstances, only he came from the serving quarters of a machine-producing and assembling estate. Both men had grown up using their hands. Now, they were accustomed to using their minds as well, and they would use them to explore the stars.

They had waited, nervous to do anything else, for two weeks. Then, finally, the promised hovercar arrived. Picard and Riker were ushered into it, and then they were leisurely headed to the Royal Palace. It wasn't until they were standing just outside of a large set of closed doors did it fully sink in that they were about to speak directly to their ruler. They were just recent graduates of Starfleet. What could their king possibly need from them?

"This way, Captain, Commander," the Steward said, bringing both men from their thoughts. He was an old man, still carrying himself with dignity and pride, but aging harshly and slow in stride. The Steward led the way into the chambers but halted several feet into the room to announce the guests. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander William Riker, Your Majesty."

A soft but authoritative voice replied from a room beyond. "Thank you, David. Captain, Commander, please be seated."

The Steward stepped aside to let them pass. Two chairs had been placed at a table in the sitting area of the king's personal chambers. They remained standing at parade rest. It would not do to be seated before the king, despite what he'd instructed. Refreshment had been set out, coffee and tea and various small treats, but the young men were uncertain to touch it just yet. Perhaps they should wait for the king to do so, giving them permission as it were.

A moment later, the king entered the room, resplendent in his finery. He was no longer a young man, but he had certainly not reached the age of his Steward. His face was lined by laughter and his blue eyes shined with the memories of a happy childhood. In his youth the king's hair had been like sunlight, but with age came a silver to interweave with his born golden locks. He reached for the refreshment and poured himself some of the dark, hot beverage. "You've passed your first test, gentlemen," the king said to them, smiling, though his focus was still on his drink's preparation. He took the third, and only available, chair at the table and began to add sweetener and cream to his coffee. "Please, truly, now, be seated and prepare your coffee or tea – whichever you prefer."

Picard and Riker obeyed the order and sat. Riker reached for the coffee, while Picard began to prepare a cup of tea, placing his saucer over his cup to properly steep the leaves. Once Riker finished stirring, the king gazed at them for a long moment, observing them, taking them in. "I'm sure you're wondering why I summoned you here."

Riker spoke up with a friendly smile on his face. "I'll admit, I've been wondering ever since your Majesty's Steward told us we were expected here."

The king nodded. "It has to do with your achievements and new positions." Picard straightened in his chair. Riker, on the other hand, relaxed, and continued to lazily stir his coffee. "Before you embark on your missions to explore strange and new worlds, seek out new life and civilizations, and boldly go where no one has gone before, I summoned you here to give you some counsel, something that I wish for you both to carry with you in your mission, and to use as a—" The king smiled to himself. "—proverbial roadmap, especially when you encounter the unusual and different, which you will certainly experience."

"Five years is a long time," Riker interjected, jovially. Picard shot his second in command a look, clearly concerned that the man had interrupted the king of all people.

But His Majesty did not seem disturbed by it at all. "Five years into your future yes. But my advice to you comes from the past." The king reached to his left, opening an ornate box that Picard did not notice until that moment. Reverently, the king removed an object from the box. "His name was Spock Grayson, son of Sarek of Vulcan," the king began, as he held aloft the object for both Picard and Riker to see. It was forged metal and carved stone, an interlocking circle and triangle, and one independent gemstone, all suspended from a fine golden chain. "And this was his IDIC pendant."

As the king continued to speak, Picard and Riker leaned back in their seats, settling in to listen to the origin of Starfleet's most important directive.

**End Note:** _Leave a review on your way out (no flames please). Thank you for reading. ~ RK_


	2. Chapter 1 - First Meetings

**Chapter One – First Meetings**

"Spock, if you don't hold still, you will never look like the little Vulcan lord that you are," the second-most senior member of the servant's staff gently admonished as she trailed behind the excited eight-year-old half-Vulcan as he went to his window for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. She was heavily pregnant with her first child. It was enough of a hassle to work get the majority of the tougher tasks completed around the Grayson Manor. Following around a Vulcan child, trying to get him into his formal robes so that he could properly welcome not only his mother home, but also his new father and two sisters he was bringing with him into the household. Perhaps this was fate's twisted and humorous way of preparing her to trail after her own little one when he or she was finally born.

"Give me that, Natasha!" her husband laughingly ordered her, snatching Spock's flowing outer robe from her hands. He walked right over to Spock who still stood at his window, bouncing on his toes excitedly. "Spock, you little pointed-eared devil, finish getting dressed!" Spock turned to him at the sound of his voice. Christopher Pike said nothing else to the boy, just held the outer robe toward the child. All he had to do was turn around and slip his arms inside the sleeves. Christopher would do the rest. He always did.

"They should be here soon," Spock announced to the senior servant. "I have never been in more anticipation for one of mother's gifts than this."

"Yes," Pike said, humoring Spock as he began to discuss it once again as he'd been doing every day for the last two weeks. "It will certainly be different with the Viscount and his daughters here." It'd been the same reply each time, and it brought Spock's constant retort.

"I hope they approve of me."

Pike didn't know how anyone could not approve of Spock, at least when he wasn't playing in the dirt and creating hybrid plant breeds with the neighboring manor's youngest servant, Hikaru Sulu. But the Lady Amanda had indulged her son's curiosity on the condition that Spock would always make himself presentable when the need arose or when noble visitors called to the home. Speaking of which…

"They will love you, Spock, just as long as you look like the little lord your mother expects to present to them." Pike leaned forward to be more on an even eye-level with the boy. "Try to behave today, Spock. Be an angel for your mother."

The mischievous spark shone in Spock's eyes. "But you have just called me a devil. I cannot be both."

Pike secured the clasps in the front of Spock's robes. "Well, you're both Human and Vulcan, so you can be both angel and devil, too." He heard something hit the window frame from outside. "Just be more angel than devil today." But the last fell on deaf ears as Spock went back to the window and flung it open. Pike just sighed. He knew there was no way to stop this.

"My mother and new family are arriving soon. I cannot experiment in our greenhouse today!" Spock shouted down to someone outside.

"You're all dressed up like a lord!"

Pike looked at his wife. They both shook their heads and rolled their eyes.

"I am a lord, Hikaru!" Spock fired back.

"You never look like one!"

"I have to today."

"You're gonna miss it! The apriums are ripe _today_!"

Pike didn't even have time to make the argument that the apriums would still be ripe tomorrow before Spock ran from the window and out of his rooms. By the time he'd taken pursuit of the boy, Spock was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and waited at the bottom of the stairs to escort his wife, his Natasha, his number one woman, outside where they would go to finish picking some fresh bouquets for the tables in honor of their mistress's new husband and stepdaughters.

He just hoped that Spock would keep the juices and dirt off of his hands, his face, and especially his clothes. He knew Lady Amanda wouldn't mind, but he didn't know if the Viscount would.

Soon enough, the bell rang to announce their arrival. It was Pike's duty to make sure all of the staff had lined up before the house to welcome their lady home. Natasha stood closest to the house's entrance, as the second senior staff member. Pike's place was apart from the rest, several paces forward, where he would steady the horse so the rider could dismount.

He was surprised when the rider was not Lady Amanda, but the imposing figure of who could only be her new husband. He had sharp features and intense, focused eyes. His figure was strong and he had the carriage of a man not used to refusal. He looked completely relaxed as he passed through the gate of the manor, taking in his new residence as his horse cantered toward Christopher. The Viscount looked at each of the staff as he passed them. The horse obediently, used to the routine countless times, came right to Christopher so that he could take the reins close to the horse's bit, rewarding the animal with a sugar cube treat. "Welcome to Grayson Manor, Viscount."

The Viscount nodded, but said nothing as he dismounted, and went directly to the carriage that had followed his lead through the gate. He stood beside the doors and waited. Pike gestured to Tyler Barnett, who quickly went forward to the carriage and opened the doors. The Viscount clearly had a more rigid style of propriety than their former master, Lord Sarek of Vulcan, Lady Amanda's deceased husband. Only after Barnett opened the doors did the Viscount extend his hand.

At the sight of Lady Amanda the entire staff relaxed. She radiated joy at seeing her home, smiling brightly at everyone. Her eyes scanned the line for the one she wanted most to see. "Christopher, where is Spock? He seems to be missing." Pike prayed once more that Spock would arrive clean and put together.

Before he could reply, a small child, just about Spock's age peeked out of the carriage. The Viscount smiled at the girl and helped her from the carriage. She had the same sharp features and hawk-like eyes as her father, but did not have his brown hair. Hers shone like fire in the sunlight, the red glowing like embers. She had the attention of everyone in front of the house, including Lady Amanda, who smiled encouragingly at the girl. Several moments passed after the red-haired child emerged from the carriage without anything happening. The Viscount cleared his throat pointedly. Then, a second girl – this one a little younger – looked out of the carriage. This girl was blonde and pale with large and inquisitive blue eyes. He helped her from the carriage as well. Once both of his daughters settled themselves and stood on either side of their father, the picture of future noblewomen, the Viscount met Lady Amanda's happy and anxious eyes. "It is certainly quaint and charming like you said, my lady."

"Mother!" That single word took Lady Amanda's attention from her husband. A moment later, her son's body slamming into hers took her breath away.

"Oh, Spock, look at you, just as I left – all covered in dirt!" Natasha and Christopher heard her try to sound deliberately more disappointed, but clearly heard the laughter she buried. Pike was only a little disappointed that his prayers were ignored for a presentable little lord. But seeing his lady fuss over him and brush his uncooperative hair with her fingers and the smile on both of their faces made him realize that he would not have Spock any other way. "This was Hikaru's doing wasn't it?" she asked knowingly.

"Indeed. The apriums were ripe only today, but he could not reach them and is a terrible climber."

She sighed, using the edge of her own sleeve to clear her son's face of dirt. "So, you thought you should do it."

"Obviously, mother."

She shook her head at him. "I had hoped to present a little lord, but I must make do with this urchin, I suppose." She planted her hands on his shoulders and turned him to face the Viscount and his daughters. "Spock, I want you to meet the Viscount Alexander Marcus and his daughters, Janice Lestra and Carol Ann."

The Viscount smiled at the dirt-smudged child that was his wife's son. "Hello, Spock. Your mother barely discussed anything else about the manor. It's nice to meet you at last." He raised his voice to carry behind him to his girls. "Little ladies, greet your stepbrother."

In unison, Janice and Carol spoke, "Lord Spock," and curtseyed to him. Spock, finally behaving more angel than devil in Pike's mind, returned the courtesy with a bow of his own.

Many hours later, after Spock had been bathed and prepared for bed, his mother came to visit him. "Spock, I have a gift for you." She revealed the wrapped item from behind her back and handed it to her son. He unwrapped it eagerly.

"C'thia," he read the title aloud.

She smiled. "It means 'reality, truth, logic, the way things are' in Vulcan." She brushed his hair back with her hand fondly. "You've read all of the Vulcan books in our library already, so I thought you should have another new one to explore."

Spock opened to the first page and realized something important about the book. "This is a book of poetry, mother."

"Indeed," she used her son's favorite reply.

Vulcans rarely composed poetry, he knew. He read the first stanza of the first poem. His eyebrows rose in surprise as he understood what he'd just read. "Mother, Vulcans do not compose poetry that discusses affection for another being."

"Pre-reformation Vulcans did, Spock," she informed him. If only she could tell him of the sorts of love poetry his father had written her during their courtship. Only later he had confessed to changing choice words periodically in traditional, romantic Vulcan poetry, substituting human words and concepts so that she could understand what he tried to convey. Even later he had told her the name of the book he'd referenced, and only now had she been able to find one of the few remaining copies so that her son could read it. "This book combines Vulcan concepts and language and human poetic organization and structure."

Spock looked at her strangely before comprehension dawned in his eyes. "It is a hybrid form of literature just as I am a hybrid form of being."

It was not the way Amanda would ever have phrased it, but it would have to do. "The best of both Vulcan and Terra," she agreed.

"Shall we read some together?" he asked.

"Spock, darling," she said, "Unlike you, I endured an entire day of traveling and settling in our new family." Spock had helped Janice and Carol situate themselves in their rooms, too, but Janice seemed to have a very particular place and arrangement for everything she owned, so he left her to her own devices. Carol, on the other hand, had graciously accepted his help, even though he had no idea what to do with some of her possessions.

"Yes," he conceded. "And you are a wife now. Just as I am a brother."

Amanda hid the sadness in her eyes at the word with a laugh. "Yes, I'm a wife again." She kissed his forehead. "But I am your mother first and always. We'll need to adjust to having other in our lives, won't we?"

"Indeed, mother."

"Do you like them?"

Spock did not know how to answer the question. "I helped Carol settle. She is kind. I did not interact long with Janice. And I only spoke to the Viscount during our meal. I have no opinion on either of them yet."

She laughed. "One out of three is good enough to start." She began to tuck him into bed. "You'll have lots of time to interact with them when I have to leave for Andoria in a week."

Spock didn't know about this. "You have only returned today."

"It's a conference on Diversity of Species in Marriage. As a representative and participant of such a union, I have to attend it." She did not wish to tell him that there were still groups of all kinds of individuals that openly, and sometimes violently, opposed interspecies unions, and that there was always a risk of attack at conferences like this. Spock would have enough to worry about trying to adjust to three new family members all at once in what had been a quiet home. She did not wish to worry him about something that would be unlikely to happen. "I will be away for four weeks."

"So long?" he asked as he snuggled into his covers. "Must it be four? Can you not shorten it?"

She realized with some amusement that Spock was nervous to be left in the house with his new family without her. "I will see if I can return a week early, if you wish, but nothing more than that."

Spock nodded glumly. "It will do."

Amanda shook her head fondly at him. He denied having his emotions, but they were clear in his expressions. "Give me a kiss, darling. We survived day one." Spock pecked her cheek then curled up in bed, his book clutched in his hand. "I'll see you for day two."

"Sleep peacefully, mother."

"You, too, my son."

~X~X~X~X~X~

A week passed too quickly. The staff had lined up again in front of the house, but this time it was to bid farewell to Lady Amanda. The Viscount, his daughters, and Spock were accompanied to the space port by Christopher Pike and Tyler Barnett. Everything had been secured aboard the shuttle that would carry her to the main vessel. All that was left was to say goodbye.

Amanda turned and saw the saddened expression on her son first. When she looked to her new daughters and her husband, their expressions were also less than happy. "I will only be gone for three to four weeks. It is not terribly long."

The Viscount took her hands tenderly. "It will be an empty manor without your laughter."

She smiled at him. "But maybe the girls and Spock will get to know each other better on their own without our pressuring them." She always was optimistic about things, especially when it came to anyone taking a liking to Spock. Even though her opinion of her son was biased as his mother, Pike agreed with it.

Amanda said goodbye to Janice and Carol but knelt before Spock. "Perhaps you can get the girls to spend time in the garden with you and Hikaru." By Spock's doubtful expression and slumped posture, it was clear he had little faith of that ever happening. "I'll see you in three weeks, my darling." Spock threw himself against his mother and buried his face in her clothes. He did not want her to leave this time.

But they called for those departing to board the shuttle then. Amanda separated herself from Spock, and affectionately traced her index and middle finger along his cheek. Spock raised his own fingers and touched the back of her palm, in what Pike knew to be the Vulcan form of kissing. Not romantic kissing. She had never taught him that. She was waiting until it was necessary to arrange a match for him or until he found love of his own. Only then would she teach her son how to demonstrate romantic love as a Vulcan would – quietly, solemnly, but powerfully and completely.

Then, Amanda boarded the shuttle and its engines roared. It lifted away from the platform. Pike came to stand behind Spock, reassuringly placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. After all, it was traditional to watch Lady Amanda's departure until her transport was no longer visible to their eyes.

But the Viscount did not know of this tradition. He turned away from the platform, calling for his daughters to follow. When one of them mentioned that Spock and Christopher had lingered behind, the Viscount turned back to them. "Come along, Spock. We're returning to the manor."

Spock did not look away from the shuttle, but Pike did. "Sir, it is traditional for him to watch her departure until he can't see her anymore."

The Viscount sighed. "Well, bring him along after us, then." He began away again, not even waiting for Pike's reply.

As he began to turn back to continue observing the departure with Spock, the boy screamed a single word. "Mother!" Pike looked up to the sky—

—and saw the flames. Lady Amanda's shuttle was on fire and had begun plummeting to the surface.

Spock tore from his grasp as he started off towards the shuttle. Pike had run after him, but only seconds later shoved aside by the frantic Viscount. He grabbed his new stepson and slammed him against his chest. "Stop! You can't get to her. You'll never—" His personal communicator activated, and he grabbed it. "Marcus," he announced himself.

"Alexander?" came Lady Amanda's panicked voice. "Something happened to the shuttle."

"Mother!" screamed Spock.

The Viscount shoved the boy away from him to speak to his wife. Pike went to his knees and grabbed Spock, holding him still so he could focus on the conversation. "I know; we saw it."

"We've lost one of the engines, Alexander, we—" There was the sound of an explosion and passengers screaming. "I think that was the other one," Amanda said, no longer able to disguise her terror. "Alexander, please tell my son that—"

"Mother, no!" Spock cried out again.

"Spock?" she called through the Viscount's communicator. "Oh God, Spock. Listen to me, darling. Your stepfather will take care of you now, okay?" Pike lifted Spock into his arms and took him close to Viscount Marcus and the communicator.

"No," Spock whispered in horror, understanding that she was saying goodbye permanently. "Don't go, Mother." He wasn't looking at the communicator, but at the doomed shuttle falling from the sky.

"I have to, my son. Forgive me," she sobbed. Another explosion sounded from the shuttle. "But remember that I love you, Spock. I love you so much."

Spock had begun to cry as he watched the shuttle quickly approach the ground. "Mother," he cried, as though the word alone could save her life.

"Do you hear me, sa-fu? I cherish thee!" Pike recognized the Vulcan phrasing. He hadn't heard it spoken since before Lord Sarek's death.

"I love you, too, Mother," Spock finally managed, just as he lost sight of the shuttle.

"I cherish—"

Pike saw the explosion as the shuttle met the earth, felt the heartbroken sobs of the child in his arms, and heard the static of Viscount Marcus's communicator.

~X~X~X~X~X~

The king was irate, and in such times not even the queen's good sense could make him see sense. The middle of the night was no time to break the news to their son – their second son, really – of his new responsibilities upon the delivery of a short and succinctly worded note that had arrived to their hands just before they'd retired to sleep. They had both read it, and an argument resulted almost immediately afterwards that lasted for many hours into the night.

"The treaty has already been signed, Winona!" George roared as he stalked through the corridor in his sleepwear, a heavy robe over it but billowing behind him. "My son will honor it or by refusing demand that I risk open war!"

Queen Winona hurried after her husband as she struggled to get her arm into the sleeve of her own heavy robe to avoid running after George in nothing but her nightgown. "We made the treaty for a different son, George, not this one!"

He spun to face her, holding up the note that caused their tempers to flare and their night to be sleepless. "And because of this everything changes!" His pause allowed her to catch up to him. But she didn't have time to catch her breath. "The boy will obey me in this or there will be hell to pay for him."

Winona took her son's side, as it was clear his father would not. Besides that, he was not even here to defend himself against his father. He was most likely asleep by now, dreaming of visiting other worlds and journeying through the stars – if not as an explorer than at least as a…well, probably an impatient diplomat. But, she would try to help her boy in this. She objected to this as much as he likely would. "He has never even met the girl. And therefore he can't possibly love her."

"A marriage treaty has nothing to do with love, Winona!"

They were nearly to their son's chambers. "Then, maybe they should be about love!" There. Maybe if she shouted at her husband, her son would be awakened before George barged into the rooms as he'd planned.

"It's his responsibility now, and he must begin to accept that."

"He needs time to adjust to all of this. Throwing this marriage at him in the middle of the night will accomplish nothing but his anger at you."

George didn't even stop walking. "I'm already angry. If he wants to fight about it, I've already had hours with you to warm up for one with him." The guards posted at their son's door opened them at their approach. The king never paused as he barreled into the rooms. "I'm so angry about all this that I can't even sleep. And if I can't sleep, he won't either!" He went directly into their son's bedchamber, throwing open the door. "James, wake up!"

Silence answered the king. Winona stepped into the chambers just behind her husband, and activated the lights. Then they saw it. A thick, knotted rope led directly out of the window. The king and queen both went to it, and leaned out of the window. There, on the grounds of the palace, but already having gained quite a distance was a single rider, cloaked to hide his face, the horse galloping hard towards the gate. Winona sighed. The cloak did nothing to disguise the rider's identity. A mother always knew her child, and it seemed that hers was fleeing from home.

"Assemble the guards!" the king ordered. "Find him and bring him back!"

She shook her head then turned away from the window. Her gaze landed on the boy's desk. Upon it lay an open and unfolded letter. At first, the queen dreaded its contents. But as she picked it up and read it, she understood why her son had fled. She handed the letter to her furious husband, who had been heaving the rope back into the rooms from the window. "He already knew about it. And he knew you would come right to him screaming at him."

George let it fall to the floor, but he crumbled the copy that they'd received.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He fought against the rooster's call, wanting to remain in his dream – where he was permitted to dress in finery like he'd never felt, where he did not have to fall to the ground at the sight of royalty but only had to politely bow, where he was not ashamed of who he was or of what he was, where he could simply be Spock as his mother had been shaping him to be. But the rooster persisted and Spock admitted to himself that it was only a dream and that this was his reality. He did not wear finery. He had to fully genuflect if any noble-born, especially royalty, appeared in his eyesight. His mixed heritage was shameful. He was a servant in his childhood home. But, ultimately, he was no one.

He set aside the worn book he'd been reading in front of the glow of the fireplace last night. He'd read it hundreds of times in the last twelve years, ever since she brought it home for him. He knew it both in Vulcan translation and the Human Standard, and occasionally, he tried to imagine which would be his father's preferred selection, or his mother's favorite. Reading the book of Vulcan Poetry was the only way he knew – or was able – to remember and honor his mother. That and to keep the manor alive as long as it was in his power. Very few things were in his control since his mother's death, but the land and home she loved so much would not end as long as he breathed. If it meant serving his – _the Viscount_! – then so be it. At least he was still in his home.

Spock rose and went to the stables. Ever since Christopher Pike's injury that resulted in the permanent use of a cane, if his chores permitted it, or a pronounced limp if he needed the use of both hands, Spock had taken his duties in the stables. Viscount Marcus had struck a horse for being frightened while bearing him. Pike had been removing the horse's saddle, turned away from the animal. Then, the Viscount had struck his horse, and the animal reacted instinctively, kicking. Pike had been in the way. Spock suspected that, in truth, Pike was a little frightened of horses since, but no one had ever discussed it with him. Spock did not mind the duties. The horses did not care that he was half-Human or half-Vulcan. They did not insult him or his home. They were actually quite affectionate with him. No, he did not mind the chores in the stables.

As he arrived, weighed down with a large bucket filled with a mix of sugar beets, grass, fruits and some vegetables, Spock heard a strange sort of shuffling. He grew immediately alert. "Come on, you stubborn beast," an unfamiliar voice groaned in frustration. Whoever this was, he had no business being here in his manor's stables. Moving silently, Spock set down the feed bucket and picked up the empty bucket from yesterday, the remnants of uneaten and limp leaves still stuck to the bottom of it. He walked slowly toward where the man's voice came from. He was grateful that his long hair was still tied back from yesterday's work. It would keep his eyesight clear. Usually, he did not bother to tie his hair back until after he'd fed the horses.

He saw the horse rear in protest four stalls away. The gate was flung open by a strange, cloaked man. Then Spock realized that this man intended to steal one of his horses. That was unacceptable. "Stop, thief!" Spock shouted as he quickly slipped around the edge of the gate to the stall and swung the bucket. The sound of impact and the groan afterward was satisfying for only a moment. "I will not permit you to take my horse!" That horse, however, was still rearing and nervous, and now a threat to the person he'd knocked off his feet. Spock went to calm his horse, and to try to get her out of the stall, away from the man so that he would not be crushed or killed. He got her out of the gate enough for her to get the idea. She cantered out of the stables, but not in the terror-filled flight of a bolt. She was anxious to get outside. Spock knew he would find her grazing later.

He was brought back to the present as the strange man grab the bucket from his hand, toss it aside, and then shoved him so he could pass Spock and headed to another stall. "My own has thrown a shoe." Spock followed the man to where he was undoing the next stall's gate. "I need a horse."

Spock pulled him away by the shoulder, and then pushed him away from the stall gate. "And you assume I will simply let you steal one of mine?"

"I really don't have a choice!"

"Yet you leave me none!" He was angry now at this man. Who was he to think he had the right to take someone else's horse? Perhaps he was insane. "Go, or I will wake the Viscount, and you will be apprehended by the king's authorities!" Spock snatched the broom from where it leaned along the stalls and swung it hard, knocking the man backwards into another stall across the stable.

"I was going to bring it back!" he cried as he began to stumble toward the doors of the stable.

"I do not believe you!" Spock pursued, slid the broom handle by the man's feet, and then took them out from under him. The man went down onto his back with a sharp cry, but a moment later leapt to his feet in outraged fury. Between the fall and his standing again the cloak had come away from his face.

As soon as he saw him, Spock knew he was doomed. He fell to his knees immediately, his hands the only thing preventing him from stopping his head from impacting the ground. "Your Highness, forgive me!" he begged. "I was unaware of your presence!" If he had known the man trying to take his horse was the prince, Spock never would have swung that bucket. He never would have struck him or tripped him with the broom. He would have done everything and anything the prince demanded – even if it were to take one of his mother's horses. Spock was no one of importance. He was inconsequential. And apparently, now his life would soon no longer matter to anyone.

"Really?" the prince asked, disbelief obvious in his voice. By the sounds, he was readying another horse for his use. "So you were just sweeping the floor?"

"No, Highness," Spock replied to the dirt in front of his face. "I mistook you for a common thief. No apology will undo the damage I have inflicted upon you, and because of my injuries to your person, I am aware the consequence is my life."

The sounds abruptly stopped. Spock did not dare look anywhere but the ground. "If you stay silent on seeing me here, I'll overlook it." He heard the prince climb onto the horse's back and begin to guide it from the stable. But he could not understand why the prince was allowing his conduct to stand. Spock expected to die at that moment, there in the stables. And if not there, then hauled off by the palace guards and executed. He did not expect to be pardoned – immediately – and released of all punishment by the prince.

He felt he should say something. "I could assist you in preparing a younger and more energetic mount, if you so desire it, Your Highness."

The prince halted the horse close to Spock's prostrated form. "The only thing I desire is to break through my cage within the palace walls." Somehow, Spock sympathized with the prince. He knew what it was like to be trapped within your own home. But he did not dare compare his life to a prince's aloud.

A small bag landed by his hand, the items inside making a sound Spock could identify immediately. The prince had tossed a pouch of credits at him. By the time Spock looked up, the prince had already brought the horse to a light canter heading out of the stable. But he did call back to Spock. "An incentive for your silence."


	3. Chapter 2 - Recoveries

**Chapter Two - Recoveries**

Breakfast was being served, and Spock had arrived to the kitchens late. Number One turned as he came through the door. "Where have you been?" she asked in hushed alarm.

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but the summoning voice of the Viscount from above them called his name, instilling further urgency in his preparations to deliver some items for their breakfast table. He hurried towards the table where Natasha was slicing the freshly baked bread. He had something important to tell her.

On the way, he passed Natasha's almost twelve-year-old son, who was busily washing the apples from the orchard. "I hate him," the child mumbled as he began to viciously scrub the dirt from the fruit. "I hate his voice, I hate his clothes, I hate his face, I hate everything about him." He tossed the clean apple into the large bowl to his right. "Him and his stupid daughters."

Ordinarily, Spock would have spoken to the boy to lower his voice or to say nothing at all. And if he didn't say it, then Natasha certainly would. But not today. Spock squeezed Pavel Chekov-Pike's shoulder sympathetically as he passed the child on his way to speak quietly with Natasha. "Look at this," he said, taking out the small pouch of credits and setting it between them on the table.

Natasha looked at it for a moment, then took it and emptied it onto the worktable. She gasped. Until that moment, Spock did not even know how much the small bag had contained. At the sound of the credits hitting the table, Pavel abandoned his duty and came over to see. Mother and son exchanged a look before she turned to Spock. "Where did you get this?"

Spock did not dare tell them it had been the prince. He'd only received this bag to stay silent. So, instead he omitted his identity precisely, and chose a vaguer descriptor. "A forgiving young man." He quickly took a mental count of the bag's value, amazed that it approximately totaled near two thousand credits. It would be more than enough. "And I know to what use I can put it."

Natasha was overwhelmed in emotion, but Pavel found his voice first. "Dad?" Spock nodded. She spoke then, and it was only her husband's name.

"If the Viscount can sell him to pay his debts—"

"He said it was my father's debts," Pavel corrected.

Spock looked at the boy. "To pay a debt, to whomever it belonged, then these credits should cover that cost, and restore him to us."

Pavel's eyes grew wide. "Dad can come home?"

Natasha's dimmed in contrast to her son's hope. "Spock, you know what happened to everyone else when the Viscount did this. Chris is most likely bound for Kronos."

Spock shook his head. He refused to accept that fate for Christopher Pike. "I will not allow it for him. I will not."

"We are waiting, Spock!" shouted the Viscount from the dining room.

Natasha swept the credits back into the little pouch, and handed it to her son, who stared at it cluelessly. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. "You'd better get up there, lordling," she said to Spock. "Before he comes down and finds these credits." She shoved the plate of bread, a bowl of cinnamon butter, and a platter of eggs at Spock, who took them all easily, balancing them with practiced skill. A moment later, he turned and headed to the kitchen to greet his stepfamily.

Natasha looked down at Pavel still holding the bag. "What are you waiting for, child? Put that away if we ever want to see your father again." Pavel scurried to the corner of the room, where several crates of vegetables waited for him to clean. He shoved the crates aside just enough to reach the small stone in the very corner. With deft familiarity, Pavel lifted the stone away, slid the pouch in the hollow space beneath the stone, then slid the flooring back into place, disturbing the dirt of the floor over it again. He slid the crates back over the hiding place. When he turned around, an accomplished smile on his face, Natasha was there to pat his clothing down of the loose dirt and dust. "Now, wash your hands. You're still working with food."

Pavel frowned. He didn't know why he had to bother washing his hands if he was dealing with dirty food anyway, but he did what his mother said.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Good morning, Viscount, Janice, Carol," Spock greeted as he set the food he carried onto the table. He did not fail to notice that, of the three of them, Carol had been the only one to bid him good morning in return. He met her gaze and saw kindness in her eyes that never quite managed to show in Janice's or the Viscount's eyes. He poured the coffee for Viscount Marcus first, moving second to fill Janice's cranberry juice, and lastly, as always, to Carol for her water.

"What kept you so long?" the Viscount asked.

Spock already had an answer in mind long before he'd arrived back to the house, knowing the Viscount would pose the question. "One of the horses bolted from the stables today. I had to fetch her back."

The Viscount nodded as he dropped a sugar cube into his coffee. Even though he always refused the milk in his coffee, he still insisted on it being on the serving tray. It was only proper. Spock made sure it did not go to waste. He usually gave it to Pavel, who either drank it himself or brought it to the neighboring manor for Sulu's cat. Spock suspected the little feline liked Pavel better than Sulu for that simple treat. Though on a rare occasion when both the Viscount and Janice were elsewhere and left Carol behind, she would come down to make a milk and fruit smoothie from the leftover milk. She'd even share it with Spock, but that was even rarer. She never said a word.

Janice, however, couldn't seem to shut up. "You fell asleep in front of the fire again, didn't you? Reading your boring book again?" The way she smiled already told Spock that she knew very well that he had been reading the Vulcan poetry book.

The Viscount meticulously sliced his sausages. "Perhaps it is the only thing he _can_ read, Janice, my dearest."

"And look how dirty he is, Father," Janice continued, crinkling her nose just so in offense. "It's not surprising, really, considering he's just a dirty half-breed mutt." It was an insult he had heard endlessly for twelve years, but it was one of the very few that still stung. As a child, he had been proud to be of a diverse heritage, to be unique. But, now, that pride had dwindled into a quiet shame. Perhaps Janice's scorn was correct.

He turned away from the table, intending to take away the coffee serving tray, but was stopped by the Viscount's terse voice. "Spock, come here, boy. You do seem to have—" he trailed off as he looked him over head to toe before deciding on the phrase, "—offensively let your appearance go. What sort of temptation would induce you to put a little more effort into yourself?"

He had grown used to Janice's barbs, but in the times that his stepfather accused him of similar faults – dirtiness, laziness, unintelligence – it always broke his emotional control a little more. "I do not mean to offend you, sir."

"Well, you do a good job of it," Janice interjected.

The Viscount ignored her, and thus did not correct her behavior. Instead, he turned back to his meal, reached for his cup and sipped his sweetened black coffee.

Spock sighed to himself. Should he ask it of the Viscount? The other alternative was to simply take the matter into his own hands as he had told Natasha and Pavel. But if – on the very slim chance – that the Viscount agreed to his request, it would mean all of those credits could stay with them for a time when they might need them again. He nodded to himself, decision made. It was worth the try. "Perhaps, if Christopher were to return, we would not—"

The Viscount whirled to face him, furious. "Out of the question! Ever since our needs have exceeded the income of this sad little manor, I've had no choice but to dismiss the majority of the staff so all of us wouldn't starve. I've only been able to afford to keep Pike, Natasha, and their little brat. I've kept you out of the memory of your mother. And ever since Pike got himself almost crippled, his value to me and this house has almost disappeared. We as a family have to survive. It was a difficult choice, but I made it. All I ask of you is to help this manor survive so that we all can as well, and that you do so in silence. Is that too difficult for you?"

"No, Viscount," Spock whispered, barely trusting his own voice. Janice smiled at her father's words and Spock's timid reply. Carol swallowed uncomfortably in her seat. She felt her own frown of disapproval beginning to show. Not wanting to let her sister or father see it, she picked up her water glass and drank from it until her expression returned to the blankness her father preferred of her.

"I will not hear another word of useless staff members returning to this house from you again. Am I understood?"

"You are, Viscount."

"Get out," Viscount Marcus dismissed Spock curtly.

Spock turned and tried to keep his emotions under control as he went back to the kitchens with the coffee tray. Of all of the things he disagreed with his stepfather most about Christopher Pike, it was that he had no value. Spock valued him, and he knew that his wife and son did as well. He may not be as physically capable as he had been, but he had helped to raise Spock. Spock loved the man. Having known what it was like to grow up without his real father, Spock refused to allow this to happen to Pavel. He would have to continue with his original idea, and he would not allow himself to fail his family.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He hadn't encountered another person until it nearly reached midday. And when he finally did, it was an entire group of people. After only observing it for a moment he realized what the situation actually entailed. The gypsy-pirates were attacking this small group of individuals. The leader of the besieged people was a distressed man, older than himself, and begging the gypsies to leave him, his boys, and his luggage alone. His pleas did nothing. Not even his final, most desperate one: "Not that! You can take anythin' but that!"

One of them, a female with bright red hair and beautiful green skin, an Orion, spun to face his direction. How had she seen or heard him? He'd halted his horse. She gave a quick and high-pitched cry to her followers, and then snapped a single command. There were obviously those in her troop that did not speak Orion as the call in several languages was shouted among themselves. He finally heard one that he understood. "The Royal Guard!" What? He was alone.

Then he heard it, the thundering of many horses. He turned, already knowing what he would see pursuing him on the same trail. He sighed in frustration before spurring his horse forward, urging her to gallop. He couldn't believe they'd found him already! He would've put a better distance between them had it not been for the incident with the servant boy in the stables. His flight was delayed as the frantic man went right up to his horse, blocking the way. "Please, sir! He's getting away with it!"

He felt for the man, truly, but if he were to go after the thief and return here, he would be recovered by his father's men. He did not want that. "They will assist you, but I can't."

"Please!" wailed the man. He grabbed his horse's reins and stopped them again. "It's everything to me. It's my life!"

The guards had nearly reached them. How long could he keep this up? He'd already stolen a horse! And he would have to steal passage on a space vessel if he could even manage to get near one without being recognized. He was already a thief, same as the man who stole whatever had so desperately upset this man. He realized that he was no different than the thief who helped sack this man's baggage. He was no thief; he was a prince. The Royal Guard would have caught him sooner or later anyway. He sighed, then kicked his horse in pursuit of the man who stole whatever was so valuable.

It did not take him long to catch up to him. Within minutes he rode alongside the fleeing gypsy. "Give me that!" he shouted at the vagrant. But the gypsy just laughed and turned sharply, forcing him to stop, turn slower, and work his mount back to a full gallop. That cost him both time and distance. He reached out and grabbed the strap of the bag the gypsy had slung across his chest. With a firm yank, both bag and gypsy tumbled from the back of the horse.

Unfortunately, it also pulled him from his as well. They both tumbled on the rough terrain of the forest until he managed to wrestle the bag off of the gypsy's body. He had one moment of triumph before he was on the ground again, the other man having tripped him. As the stranger reached again for the bag, he received a solid kick to his chest, sending him backwards and away from both bag and prince. The gypsy, even with the wind kicked from him, managed to get to his feet first. "Keep it!" he wheezed. "Not worth dying for!"

He had no idea why he let the gypsy go. He'd explain the encounter differently later if someone asked about it. Right then, all he wanted to do was catch his breath.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Has your logic left you?" Hikaru Sulu lamented as he turned from the window. Spock was his oldest friend, and he'd been there as they'd experimented with hybrid plants, and had been there after his mother's death, and every day since. They'd come up with strange ideas together, but never would Sulu have thought that Spock would believe something like this would be a good plan. "You know what they'll do to you if you're discovered – if they figure out you're only a servant."

Spock did know but that didn't stop him from stripping his plain, well-worn clothing with the intention of replacing it with that of Viscount Marcus's fine clothing. "But I cannot let them take Christopher, not there." Sulu turned away from his friend to give him a little privacy as he changed. He may not agree with Spock's plan, may try to persuade him that the entire thing is folly, but he knew the futility in trying to stop him. "If I were in his position, you would be taking my actions."

That made Sulu turn back to Spock. "I would not!" Neither of them acknowledged Spock's state of undress. The discussion was too important for such immaturities. "Because I would have no idea how to act or talk or anything! That's why pretenders are so obvious to the real nobles – they're easy to spot!"

Spock just barely smiled. "Easy if they're actually searching for a pretender."

Sulu knew he was running out of time to make his point to his friend, and he knew he was losing. Spock was stubborn, one of the most stubborn people he'd ever known. "Neither of us have been to court."

Spock shook his head, reaching for the shirt, the first of many layers he would need to don. "I will not be recognized, Sulu." He would not be – at least not by name.

Sulu scoffed. "You have pointed ears. That's very recognizable."

It was times like this where Spock cursed his Vulcan heritage. "There must be other Vulcan lords and ladies in the court. After all, isn't the Royal Family seeking an alliance with Vulcan? I will simply pass myself as a lord."

Sulu shook his head, that bad feeling growing worse in his stomach. "Terrible idea, Spock." He helped him into the second layer of the Viscount's finery.

"Yet you are still assisting me in carrying it through," Spock pointed out to Sulu.

He sighed. "No one will believe you, no matter how lordly you look."

Spock gave him the long coat and turned so that Sulu could help him get his arms through the sleeves smoothly. "It is either go to court as a servant with these credits, be refused entrance, and accused – potentially arrested – for theft, or I arrive with the credits in a manner that would draw the least attention, and that would result in the least likelihood of failure or imprisonment. I have chosen the scenario that contains the higher percentage of success in the liberation and return of Christopher Pike to this estate."

It was clear in that moment that Spock's mind had been firmly decided. "And what have you chosen to tell the Viscount?"

Sulu saw the hesitation, the doubt, in Spock's eyes. "That I have gone to pick wildflowers for Janice's rooms."

He nodded, knowing that Spock would never have that time to do it with where he planned to be today. "I'll handle it while you're gone. Where are they all now?"

"Spending more credits than he has. Probably purchasing something for Janice. She is the leading reason why Viscount Marcus has amassed so much debt and dismissed the staff. He hopes to wed her to someone richer than himself."

Sulu snorted through his smile. "Which is almost everyone." They shared a smile. It was true. Thanks to the debt Viscount Marcus had affixed to his name and the estate, nearly every other noble household – both higher and below him in station – contained more wealth.

Spock broke the jovial mood first, straightening his clothing, fussing with it self-consciously. "They are due to return in approximately four hours. I have plenty of time to complete my task."

Sulu came forward and straightened his collar for him. "Be sure you take horses."

"Of course." He shifted his weight experimentally. "I cannot wear these boots without risk of falling."

He stepped back to look his friend over from head to foot. He looked wonderful. "No one will notice, Spock, believe me. Wear your own boots. Just make sure the overcoat stays closed so they can't be seen too much." Spock nodded, removed the Viscount's and then slipped his feet back into his own footwear. When he stood straight again, he kept his gaze lowered, a habit conditioned into him from years of servitude. This would not do. "No. Head up." Spock lifted his head obediently. Sulu walked to his friend slowly, keeping eye contact. He wanted this to truly sink in with Spock. "You are proud of who you are. You are Spock Grayson, son of Sarek, and no one can take that from you." He planted his hands on Spock's shoulders supportively. "You owe nothing to no one." He knew he'd gotten through to him when Spock's eyes shone with gratitude. "Now, come with me," Sulu said, turning and walking away. "Number One's the only one who'd know around here what a Vulcan lord's hair would look like."

~X~X~X~X~X~

He had to face reality eventually. Once he recovered his breath, he found his – admittedly now, stolen – horse, climbed back onto the animal and headed back to where he'd encountered the desperate man for whom he'd recovered this…whatever happened to be inside the bag. He was tired from running and riding all night and half of the day. But that didn't wear him out nearly as much as the last ten minutes. He came over the hill and was greeted by a very enthusiastic and loud, "Thank you!" long before he reached the disheveled man. He gave him back the bag without a word.

A rider came up beside him, the horse huffing as much as the man astride it. "Jim, you promised you'd stop this shit! I'm too old to keep running after you whenever you have a bit of a panic spree!"

He grimaced as he felt and heard his back crack as he dismounted, mostly to get away from the other rider's accusing finger pointed at his face. "I lied, Bones! I thought that, as the second son, I wouldn't be tied to Terra. That I could do other things, go to the stars."

"You only got as far as the woods, laddie," said the man for whom he'd rescued the bag and its mystery item. He was removing it from the bag now, probably intending to check that whatever it was remained unbroken.

Jim ignored the man's rudeness, never mind his lack of proper address to a prince. "I realized I probably wouldn't make it past a spaceport, and never make it to a ship." He instead found himself too curious about what had been concealed in that bag to avoid walking over to the man. "It's difficult when your family owns all of them."

It was a datapad. The other man activated its power and quickly navigated his way to a very specific and buried file location. "What's so important on there?" Jim found himself asking, his curiosity now overwhelming. "You said it was your life."

The other man smiled at him indulgingly before he opened a file of very complex and complicated-looking mathematics that Jim found completely fascinating. "What you love," said the apparent mathematician, "is your life, Sire."

"What is all that?"

"A sort of transport equation that I've tried to tweak a bit to make it do a wee bit more than it does now."

He was intrigued. "Do more in what way?"

The other man looked at him conspiratorially. "To make shuttlecraft obsolete, for starters."

Then, he understood that this man was someone for whom he'd been waiting his entire life – a true visionary! In his excitement of the realization, Jim grabbed both of the man's shoulders and declared, "You're the answer! I can skip the spacesports completely and go right to a ship!"

That was when his annoyed keeper decided to speak up. He could handle Jim's temper, he could handle Jim's sparring, but he could not handle his scheming and implausible re-writing of reality in which he lived. "Now, wait a minute, Prince Jimbo!" he interrupted. "If he beams your ass into space, I'd have to arrest Mister Scott for treason or something. Now, how would I explain to the King that his invited guest is currently living in a cell below his castle?"

The prince heard nothing past the man's name. He stared at the disheveled genius that stood before him. "Montgomery Scott?" he asked unnecessarily, since he already knew it was the renowned Scotsman. "I've read most of your theories." If he couldn't use the man's scientific ideas to escape his family and his position, then perhaps there was an alternative route. And this man might be its key. "You are the embodiment of progress. If you have my father's ear then maybe he'll listen to you about the necessity of ditching archaic practices that serve no logical purpose in this day and age!"

Montgomery Scott stared at Prince James like he was a rabid animal. "Prince, laddie, I don't understand, I—" he stopped as he looked to the rider pleadingly, "—Captain McCoy, translate that ramblin' mess."

McCoy shifted on the horse, disliking that the Scotsman he'd been ordered to escort to the palace put him on the spot. It was only coincidence that he came across both the engineer and Jim in the same place. He'd been expecting a much longer day of prince-hunting. When Jim then turned to him, an expectant expression on his face, he decided that he would enjoy himself for the time being. The brat had him up and about since the middle of last night. The prince owed him a good jab at his expense. "Prince James, here, has Arranged Marriage Syndrome, among other things like an impressive list of allergies."

The Scotsman burst out laughing. Jim glared at them both.

~X~X~X~X~X~

With reluctance and a little bit of sheepishness, Prince James and Captain McCoy led their strange entourage through the main gates to the manor from which he'd stolen his horse earlier that day. He tried to convince Bones to have some of the Royal Guard return it, but McCoy wouldn't have it any other way but to detour to the scene of the crime personally. At least McCoy rode beside him and he didn't make him trot all the way to the house on his own like a small boy being punished. They had, however, left the Scotsman and his small party on the main road while they completed their errand.

They hadn't even fully arrived in front of the house before its master emerged from the door. "Your Highness," the man welcomed them, bowing deeply to them. "What a pleasant yet unexpected visit. What brought you to honor my home with your presence, if I may ask?"

Jim managed a sheepish smile. "Actually, Viscount, the return of your horse."

"I see," Marcus said in a tone indicating that he most definitely did not see. "It escaped then?" He vaguely recalled Spock mentioning something about a horse bolting this morning. As he tried to recall whether or not the half-breed mentioned anything about their prince being involved, Jim summoned one of the guards forward. The man led the stolen – borrowed – horse by the reins. The prince quickly told him where the stables were located and to ensure the horse was properly secured inside. By the time, the prince resumed speaking to Marcus, he concluded that Spock most assuredly did not mention encountering the prince to them during breakfast.

"Not exactly escaped. I was in need of a horse this morning. When I took it I alarmed one of your servants."

"Oh?" He already suspected Spock. What he could not figure out was the boy's reason to conceal this. Spock had always been honest. Why now would he cease to be?

"A man with…" Jim trailed off, trying to quickly determine what he should say. He didn't want the servant boy to end up in serious trouble. He'd already forgiven him, considering he was only protecting the home and his charges. Jim had also cloaked himself, so it wasn't as though the boy could have easily seen that he was assaulting his prince. He admired the boy's loyalty to his master and the estate. Finally, he settled on a phrase. "…a very protective enthusiasm for your home."

"I see," Marcus replied emptily. This definitely sounded like Spock.

The prince began to laugh to himself. "He was quite fierce, actually."

Marcus felt his expression harden involuntarily. "I will have a word with him as soon as possible, Your Highness." Jim, for a reason he could not explain, worried for the boy. It seemed that his choice of words would get him into trouble after all. He frowned at the realization. "Just be assured," the Viscount continued, "that you are welcome to anything my estate can offer you whenever you have need of it."

Jim barely heard his words. He was too distracted by the commotion behind the Viscount as two young ladies came rushing down the stairs and practically exploding out of the door. "Ah, my dears," Marcus said, a little too loudly. McCoy thought he tried to talk over the sound of the girls trampling down the stairs, and couldn't have done a worse job at making it more obvious. "You've finally arrived."

Marcus glanced at his daughters. They had taken long enough to get out here. He didn't know if he would have been able to delay the prince's departure for much longer, which would have left him without the knowledge that he had a beautiful, fertile, and perfect daughter who was currently unattached to anyone and thus available for the prince's taking. And Janice indeed looked gorgeous and serene! Her dress was tasteful, yet low-cut enough to give a clear idea of her full and pushed-up breasts, her slim waistline, and her ideal child-bearing hips. It revealed precisely what it needed to on an eligible lady. Carol had obviously done her part and helped her sister get dressed and ready to appear before the prince. His younger daughter still wore the plain and simple dress that she'd worn while they'd been on their excursion earlier. It hid her figure enough except to make it obvious that she was a woman. There was dust on the hem from their walking about the market, and – ever shy – she'd stubbornly kept her breasts concealed. As long as she never dared to upstage Janice, the Viscount didn't care. Carol wasn't likely to attract a decent match anyway.

He watched as they both murmured, "Your Highness," and followed it with a curtsy, Janice bending a little forward to better showcase her breasts, yet doing so with fluid grace. Carol, on the other hand, nearly lost her balance.

McCoy looked toward Jim uncomfortably. He hoped he was not the only one who felt the overwhelming and sudden urge to leave this place as soon as humanly possible. To his relief, Jim looked a little uneasy on his horse. But, thanks to his many years of training to endure things he disliked, Jim hid it much better. McCoy had seen enough lords and ladies shove their available children at the prince over the years. He knew that Jim always found it awkward to endure, but he tried to deal with it as politely as possible. Perhaps this arranged marriage was not such a terrible idea after all. It would discourage all of this...promotion towards Jim, the strange sacrifice of a child for an improved social standing maneuver. He always counted himself lucky he hadn't been born royal. No one ever tried to throw their daughters – or even their sons – at him in the hopes that he would marry them.

"Your Highness," the Viscount announced grandly, gesturing to his daughters, "may I present Lady Janice Lestra Patricia of the House of Marcus…and Carol." Janice stared sultrily at Jim, while Carol mustered up a sweet smile, though it looked pained more than pleased to McCoy. _Poor girl_, he thought. _Her own father didn't even introduce her properly. Was something wrong with her? _

"Ladies, your beauty is unrivaled," Jim said as diplomatically as possible. He really just wanted to leave. He'd only come back here to return the horse, not to be propositioned by its owner.

Marcus grew bold and approached the prince's horse, lowering his voice so the remainder of the prince's guards would not overhear him. "We are all looking forward to celebrating the crowned prince's engagement to his Vulcan lady."

Jim sighed. Right. People didn't know yet about his brother. Now that he was returning home to get chained to his duty, he decided to face the reality of his situation. They would know soon enough anyway. "Yes, well, there have been some new circumstances regarding the Vulcan engagement." He stopped as he saw the Viscount's daughters slowly come to join their father beside his horse. He felt surrounded, and more uncomfortable than before. He looked down to work out how he would maneuver his horse so that he could leave, but when he did all that he saw was Janice's chest practically falling out of her dress. He knew the kind of expression he wore as he reeled back a little on his mount. "Janice, that…" _Don't' say anything about her breasts,_ he begged himself. "…dress is stunning." He just barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief that he was able to say dress in that instant, but he still wondered what on Terra was he saying?

She brought her hand just to the edge of her neckline, which only further emphasized her chest as she breathed with exaggerated flattery. "You are too kind, Your Highness."

Jim, determined to look anywhere else but in the girls' direction, stared at his horse's mane. Because of this, he completely missed Carol adjusting her own dress's neckline to futilely reveal a portion of her own breasts, shifting her posture to press her upper body forward in an attempt to draw attention to it. After only a moment of no reaction from the prince, she sighed silently to herself and gave up, righting her clothing in the manner that she clearly preferred. McCoy, however, saw the whole thing from start to finish. He desperately tried to contain his amusement at the girl's action, but at the same time feeling sympathy for her. Clearly Janice was the daughter the Viscount concerned himself with – even if their manner of dress was the only thing McCoy based that judgment. The second was how he'd introduced Carol, no title, no other names, nothing but her first name. He watched as Carol's expression was transformed by sadness or hopelessness. She glanced at Janice, but there was no jealousy there in her gaze. Lastly, she dropped her eyes to the ground.

"These circumstances are for the better, I'm sure," the Viscount assured the prince.

"I hope so." Strangely enough, he did. Jim suddenly realized that the conversation had come to an end and now would be the perfect time to escape. He leapt on the opportunity. "Good day, ladies, Viscount," he farewelled them. Janice continued to gaze seductively at Jim. Carol's eyes rose and she presented him with a saddened half-smile as she shyly waved goodbye. Jim turned his horse and began back toward his waiting party. McCoy followed, but before he trotted after Jim he made sure to meet Carol's eyes and nod farewell to her. When she realized that he'd only paid her that attention, Carol's stunned blue eyes shined.

McCoy rode to join Jim with a smile on his face. Carol was pretty, modest, and seemed a sweet young lady. In his opinion, someone with those descriptors should not be so sad.

**End Note:**_ Hope everyone is enjoying this. Thank you for reading. ~ RK _


	4. Chapter 3 - A Royal Ultimatum

**Chapter Three** **– A Royal Ultimatum**

He'd tried to impress on Natasha that time was of the essence today, that his silly hair did not matter as much as arriving in time to stop it. She had continued to arrange his hair in the noble knots that his father had favored during his life. And because of that Spock was late. He knew he was late to arrive at the palace, even while bringing his horse to a full gallop, with the second horse he brought with him obediently trailing while attached to his own mount. He hoped that on the return to the manor she would bear a rider. But now that he might be too late, he did not know if that hope was in vain.

Spock ran up the walkway that led to the gates of the Royal Palace. He'd always imagined that when he made his first journey – if he ever had reason to go – to the palace, it would be for a grand occasion. Perhaps a royal wedding or a celebration of scientific achievement. He never thought that the first time he would walk through the gates would be as he pretended to be a Vulcan lord on a mission to free a servant. And he had always imagined himself walking, certainly not running. Determined to have one of his criteria a reality, Spock slowed his pace to a walk.

He passed through the gates, past the attending guards, with a sense of profound relief. Step one had been completed. He had entered the Royal Grounds…and he had no idea what to do from there. He looked around at all of the noble lords and ladies, so many of them of different races. The majority were the blue-skinned Andorians, the wide-eyed Betazoids, the silken-furred Caitians, the elegant and stoic Vulcans, the fierce Klingons, and the emotionally-open Humans. Spock made mental notes to avoid the Betazoids – he did not want his identity and thoughts discovered – and the Vulcans – so that he would not be so clearly different from them – and the Klingons – especially one particular governor and his attendants who would easily recognize him. Had he been a true Vulcan lord he would have been able to walk up to any of these individuals and ask where he should go. But he could not, he dared not. He was on his own, and only hoped that he was not too late and that the entire risk would be worthwhile.

Spock wandered the open grounds, listening carefully to the conversations he passed, listening to the noises of the environment, hoping to hear anything that could lead him to Christopher Pike. Against any odds he had expected, Spock heard his familiar voice. He ran towards it, carefully avoiding collision with others while doing so, until he caught sight of him. "I have credits," Pike called to the burly jailor who was bodily escorting him down a pathway and towards a waiting cage that made up the back of a hover-vehicle. "Please, let me summon my master to bring them," he tried as he awkwardly climbed the three steps into the prison-like cage where three other sold servants or criminals were waiting.

"That time's come and gone, wretch," the jailor barked unsympathetically, as he planted his beefy hand on Pike's back and shoved him forward. Pike cried out in pain as he fell. Spock wondered where his cane had gone, then he realized that this jailor must have confiscated it. He shook with anger on the man's behalf. Pike needed that cane. How dare they deny it to him! Then, Spock understood that in such closed confines of a mobile prison cage, an object like a cane could be considered a weapon for one of the other imprisoned people to use on his or her transport companions. While he saw the logic in denying the cane, he could not accept it.

Spock ran again to intercept and hopefully stop the hovercar's progress away from the palace grounds. "Stop!" he cried. The burly driver did not halt the vehicle. Spock knew that as soon as he had opened his mouth he had drawn the attention of several nobles remotely near him. He doubted there were many Vulcans that shouted in public. It could not be helped now. He was too close to give up on Pike's freedom. He would not let him disappear from the manor as so many others had before him. Spock caught up to the hovercar and stood in its path. "Stop this vehicle immediately!" It continued towards him. "Kroykah!" he cried. The vehicle finally stopped and it was dangerously close to his body. He found it strange that it took a Vulcan word to stop the hovercar's progress. It was a word he'd only read in his mother's book – from a passage about a contested bonding ceremony – but had never used or heard aloud. "I demand that you release this man," he said in a remarkably steady voice to the jailor. He only now noticed that the man had facial hair and a gigantic and muscular build. This human could easily kill him in a physical fight. Spock pointed to Pike's crumbled figure in the cage. "As my servant, all of his debts are my responsibility. I have brought the funds to ensure his release." Pike stared at him with wide eyes as he hauled himself to his feet by grasping each row of bars level by level.

The large man sighed in frustration and obvious impatience. "He's sold already, little lord, to QumwI' Veqlargh Hegh. You've come too late, Vulcan." He restarted the hovercar.

It was as Spock had feared. He met Pike's despairing gaze and hardened his resolve. "How much was his price?" he shouted over the loud engine.

"Five hundred."

At least it was a price he could outmatch. Spock planted his feet. "I have two thousand credits. That not only pays his debt, but also the fee QumwI' Hegh paid for his acquisition three times over! I demand that you release him to me!"

The hovercar stopped again. Anger joined the man's frustration with him. "It's not up to me."

The words left his mouth before he could think about their ramifications. "Then shall we speak to his Majesty on the matter?"

The angry man leaned forward in his driver's seat. "Who do you think sold your servant off? Me? It was the King!"

At least he would not have to lie to the King's face about being a lord this way at least. But he still had to persuade this difficult man to cooperate. "I will not leave or cease my demands until this man is returned to my custody."

He had seemingly run out of the little patience he had left. "Then you'll be a run over Vulcan!"

"Did you dare just threaten a Vulcan lord in my presence?" Spock knew that voice – he'd heard it only hours ago. He did not even hear the jailor attempt to come up with an excuse for his loss of temper. All Spock could silently and desperately plead in his head was that the prince would not recognize him. He doubted that he would. He had only seen him for a second before Spock had fallen to the ground in the low subservient bow of the lower class of citizens. He had not afterward dared to look up at the prince. Spock turned now, however, looked at him in the eyes for only a moment, then dropped his gaze as he delivered a bow that he'd seen his stepfather perform many times to other lords and ladies of higher status than himself. The prince swept him with his eyes from his head to his feet. Surely such a man would have noticed his worn boots had Spock not insisted on an overcoat that, when clasped shut, would conceal most of his footwear. The prince then turned his attention to the still stuttering jailor.

"—worthless creatures and thieves to their new masters or their fates."

Spock knew he could not achieve Pike's release from this stubborn jailor. But perhaps he could appeal to the prince instead. He did not know if he could be so lucky to receive the man's mercy twice in one day, but he had to try. For Christopher, for his wife, and for their son. "My servant is not worthless to me, and he is certainly not a thief as he has never taken from me what I did not freely allow him. On the contrary he is valued by me. I have only recognized this when it was nearly too late and have come to reclaim him, despite his limiting condition since an injury. If anyone should be considered a thief, it is not my servant, or myself, but those above my status."

Jim exchanged a glance with McCoy, who had brought his horse up alongside his prince. His Highness had seen an odd sort of crowd forming and leisurely gone to investigate. When the shouting became evident, Jim brought his horse to a gallop, arriving just in time to hear his sweets-loving jailor threaten to run over a Vulcan lord with his hovercar. McCoy had spurred his own mount into a full gallop as soon as Jim did. He arrived at his side just as a young Vulcan male turned to gaze up at Jim with nervous yet determined eyes. As Jim turned to look at him, even briefly, McCoy could tell that his prince was both awed and amused by the Vulcan's nerve in addressing him. "Careful, my lord. I do believe you just called the Royal Family thieves."

The Vulcan did not even flinch. "As you insist, Your Highness."

Jim's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't insist, but I will admit my curiosity in how you came to that conclusion." He tilted his head, studying this fascinating Vulcan who stood boldly before him. "So, my lord, please, enlighten me."

Spock nodded once, sharply, at the prince's command. "The King demands that all of his noble families and estates produce goods or crops in order to sustain both the realm and that lord's estate, yet he continually raises trade, selling, and property taxes. This causes an increase in pressure on his subjects for productivity in their goods or crops, which in turn means an additional demand for generated revenue. In some circumstances, it leaves his subjects with only two options: to sell their material property to maintain their staff and product yields but it reduces their standard of living to that of indigence while barely keeping their dignity and social status, or – in the second instance – to dismiss, or otherwise sell, their servants and staff as needed, one by one, thus destroying families, reducing their productivity due to the less available assistance in the estate, yet still allowing retention of material possessions but continuing to decline in wealth, income, and status to the same result as the previous scenario. In either case, ultimately, the King is stealing from his subjects – whether by their possessions, their servants, or their estates. I have chosen to reclaim a life that was erroneously cast aside in favor of an object. I have chosen to value a man's life over material considerations. Please do not force me to lose both my estate's maintainers and my ability to properly continue to provide for his Majesty as he, by law, requires of me. Please return this man to me, Your Highness."

Spock could not tell what the prince thought of his reasoning. In one respect, he did not wish to know. But he could not unsay the words now. The prince had heard them, his guardsmen had heard them, and the crowd of nobility around them had heard them. Spock had intended to achieve Pike's freedom with as little notice as possible. It seemed the exact opposite had occurred.

Montgomery Scott had finally reached the crowd sometime during the young Vulcan's petition to Prince James. He stared at him, wondering where the Vulcan had gotten such outspoken nerve. Any Vulcans he had ever come across were much more reserved in their speech, much quieter. This Vulcan spoke with clear emotion and passion. He found him unique. One look at the mounted prince and Montgomery Scott knew that the prince came to a similar conclusion, despite what the Vulcan had just said to him.

A hesitant tug on the hem of his shirt brought his attention to his very short assistant, Keenser. "What?" he whispered. His silent companion pointed first to his own booted feet, then pointed at the Vulcan. Scott looked at the Vulcan's boots, and then saw what Keenser noticed. They were definitely not the high-quality boots of a Vulcan – or any other race – lord. He realized what exactly must be occurring from the Vulcan's perspective. "Not a word, laddie," he ordered Keenser. His silent friend nodded in agreement. They would not be the ones responsible for the Vulcan's deceit being discovered, especially not when he carried himself so well.

"Who purchased this Vulcan's servant, Cupcake?" the prince asked the jailor.

"QumwI' Hegh, Sire."

Jim sighed at the name. "Release him," he said. He'd speak to Hegh later in the matter, deciding in that moment to compensate him for his loss. He would be difficult to settle and calm, but he was certain he could smooth it over with Hegh with time, patience, and a good deal of credits. Cupcake hadn't moved and stared at him like he'd spoken a language the jailor didn't understand. "Your Prince has just commanded you to release that man." Cupcake moved like he'd been electrically prodded. He watched as the Vulcan went to help his servant from the cage. He must care a great deal for the injured human. He'd never seen an openly compassionate Vulcan before.

Pike allowed Spock to steady him. A moment ago he was bound for Kronos. Now, thanks to this wonderful child, he would return home. He would return to Number One, his Natasha, and their boy. "I thought," he choked on his own relief. "I swore you were your father."

Spock nodded to him, not trusting himself to speak. At least he now knew that there was something in him of his father. For so long he had never known. But as Pike had been momentarily fooled by his performance, Spock understood the sort of person his father had been. And he must have been a proud, almost regal, and noble Vulcan. "Our horses are beneath the walkway from the gate. I will meet you there. Do you need assistance walking?"

Pike, still overwhelmed in emotion and relief, almost laughed. "If you asked me to, I'd run from this place."

"There is no need for that, Chris."

Spock drew away from him, and watched for a moment as Pike walked toward the gates, still saddened by his limping. He wished he had a cane for him. But at least he'd brought a horse for him. Even if he had only brought one, he would have insisted on Pike riding home, regardless of how it may have looked with a Vulcan noble walking while his servant rode.

Spock turned and walked back in front of the hovercar, looking up to the prince and bowing gracefully. "You have my gratitude, Your Highness."

While Jim had been anxious to end the conversation with Viscount Marcus earlier today, he wanted this intriguing Vulcan to continue speaking to him. McCoy recognized Jim's sparked interest, but doubted he would do anything about it…until after the prince had practically leaped off his horse to follow the Vulcan's departure. He sighed in frustration. He could keep the prince from running away from his responsibilities, but it seemed he couldn't stop Jim from making a fool of himself. He dismounted, much slower than the prince, handed the reins of both of their mounts off to one of his guardsmen, and then slowly followed Jim, keeping a discreet distance from him. He would – if questioned – claim he followed for the prince's protection, but he admitted to himself that he was curious as to what so interested Jim in this Vulcan.

"Have we met?" Jim asked loudly, hoping his voice would stop the Vulcan's stride. It did not.

Spock, at the sound of the prince's voice, became all too aware of the bag of credits in his hand. The bag of credits that this very same prince had tossed at his prostrated form this morning. He hurriedly shoved the bag into a pocket in the long overcoat. What if the prince had seen it? What if the prince had recognized it? Was this why he had posed that question: Have we met? Technically, they have met. But the prince had met Spock, the servant, not the Vulcan lord currently walking away from him. The distinction allowed Spock to interpret the prince's words as he chose. His error did not constitute a lie on his part. "We have not, Your Highness."

"Did you come with the Vulcan delegation?" The prince asked, his hurried pace nearly catching up to Spock's unbroken strides. "I thought I'd been introduced to all of them."

"I did not," Spock replied, refusing even to look at the prince. He kept his eyes on the gates and kept walking. "I have…only just recently arrived here, Your Highness."

Jim laughed. "Surely not just to cause a scene over a servant."

Spock tried not to be offended. "Of course not," he said, nearly losing the calmness in his voice. "I have come on the invitation of an acquaintance."

Jim could barely contain his excitement. If he knew who the Vulcan mentioned, it would make seeking him easier. "Who?"

Spock increased his pace. He did not like where this conversation was heading. "My family's acquaintance."

Jim smiled to himself at the Vulcan's reply. 'Ah, yes,' he thought, 'Vulcans are usually literal.' "You mentioned the acquaintance part, but I'm looking for a specific on that topic."

The prince's line of questioning approached dangerous. Spock thought quickly and frantically for anything to tell him than the strict truth. "It is the only family acquaintance with whom I also maintain association." He did not fail to hear two people fail to stifle their laughter quickly enough. He looked behind him as he continued to walk, seeing one of the prince's guards, a gruff-looking man, and a shorter disheveled man of approximately the same age. He did not think his omission of certain truths something to be amused by. It only made him want to leave faster.

Jim stopped walking for a moment at the Vulcan's response, distantly aware that his mouth had fallen open in shock and amused offense. Was he serious? Then, he heard McCoy and Scott laughing behind them. He shot a glare at them. This was now a matter of pride and principle! He jogged after the Vulcan, who had never once broken his stride during their entire conversation. "Are you evading my questions to play with me, my lord, or do you want me to beg you for your name?"

"Yes," Spock answered immediately. He realized immediately afterwards how the prince could interpret that. He meant yes to part of the first half of the question. "And no," he amended, hoping the prince would understand that his additional answer was meant for the second half of his question. He had no desire to tell the prince his name.

Jim would not accept that kind of answer. The Vulcan had almost reached the gates. He could not let him escape without knowing who he was. "Then, keep that secret, but at least give me the name of your friend so that I can learn your name from them if not you." He cut in front of the Vulcan and matched his pace by walking backwards, facing off against him in a verbal fencing match. "But you have to understand that I will have it one way or another."

Spock stopped walking for the first time since he broke through the gathered crowd. Jim considered this a victory and could not prevent himself from smiling. "You can't honestly mean to accuse the king's laws of being completely illogical, in such a fine example of Vulcan oratory, and then walk away and deny me my right to know the identity of my father's accuser."

Spock sighed and stepped around the prince. "Indeed I do, Your Highness."

Jim, for the second time because of this Vulcan, let his jaw fall in shock. He couldn't let him leave, not without even a hint. His was the most mentally stimulating verbal sparring in what seemed like ages. Jim whirled and ran in front of him again, blocking the Vulcan's escape once more. "I beg you. There, are you pleased, now? I beg you for a name." That was incredibly vague. He needed to fix that. "I'd prefer yours, but I'll settle for your friend's, if you are determined on secrecy."

This prince was insatiable. Spock knew in that moment that he would not be leaving this man's presence, or rather this man would not leave his, until he gave him what he wanted. He thought for a name that could not lead the prince to his true identity or, especially, to the Viscount. "Then be satisfied with S'haile…" He blurted out the first name that came to mind. "Sybok, son of…Skon." What had possessed him to give the prince that name? Spock nodded to himself, repeating this false name to himself just in case the prince ever saw him again and addressed him by it. He would look foolish indeed if he did not react to his own name.

Jim felt his expression brighten and his mood lighten. "So a little begging is all it takes to break through that Vulcan stubbornness?" He smiled at Sybok warmly.

Spock thought the prince looked far too pleased with himself. He opened his mouth to return the prince's teasing when a woman's voice rang out to his right. "James, my darling. I see that Captain McCoy has convinced you to come home." Spock glanced to the right and froze when he saw the Queen. It had been difficult to conceal the truth from the prince. But if he were forced to lie to the Queen…Spock knew such action was considered one of the highest crimes. He had to leave immediately. He'd only just freed Pike, he would not put anyone at risk by being taken into royal custody.

"Good afternoon, Mother."

"Now that you've enjoyed your little adventure—"

Spock, as soon as the prince gave his attention to the Queen, turned away from him and hurried through the gates. He hoped that Christopher had managed to prepare their horses for a quick departure. He had no intention of being near the palace a moment longer.

"—The King demands your presence. He has a great deal to say to you."

Jim did not fail to notice that she did not call him his father, but chose to refer to him as the king. His father was therefore in a mood and determined to scream until his demands were met. It had long been a code between Jim, his brother, and their mother when it came to the king. It warned the boys of the sort of confrontation they were about to encounter.

"That's not exactly unusual. I'll see to him momentarily." He wanted to say goodbye to Sybok. However, when he turned back to where the Vulcan had stood, he found that Sybok had vanished from the grounds. He looked through the gates and did not even see him there.

"I can honestly say, Jim, that I never saw a Vulcan noble run away from anything like he ran from you." McCoy had come to stand at his side, as he so often placed himself. Right now, though, Jim didn't want to endure his friend's teasing.

"Sure he had a good reason," Montgomery Scott added from McCoy's other side.

Jim continued to look through the metal, guarded gates. Why had Sybok run?

McCoy slapped a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Looks like you can't charm 'em all, Jim."

He shrugged McCoy's hand from his shoulder, then walked off toward his mother, determined to get this discussion with his father over with as soon as possible. He knew the two men were following him without looking.

~X~X~X~X~X~

She'd decided to fill her time with weeding certain areas of the garden while Spock had left on his self-appointed mission. Natasha was so nervous that she felt taking out her anxiety on greens that were not supposed to be there in the dirt next to the plants they could actually eat. She grabbed the leaves as close to the dirt as she could and then yanked them out hard. Soon enough, when the hours began to pass and it came time to harvest some of the edible vegetables since there were no more weeds left to pull, Natasha began to release her fear, her sadness, and her denial of the inevitable. As she pulled up the lettuce greens from the earth, Natasha began to silently cry.

Spock should have returned by now. He should have returned with Christopher at his side. Yet neither had come back. That could only mean one thing. Spock had been discovered. His deception had been found out. He was likely hauled off to a cell to await execution, and her husband…he was most likely en route to Kronos. She was most likely next. And it terrified her. Losing her husband, her loving husband, their son's father, along with Spock in one blow could not be described as anything other than devastating.

Pavel watched his mother weep in the dirt as she pulled the lettuce and shakily put them in the basket close to her knees. He'd been sad when they came for his father. He knew he'd done nothing wrong. But he knew his father would be like Tyler Barnett – who'd been taken by the royal guards – and would never return. He'd seen Tyler taken off two years ago. His parents had managed to keep him from witnessing other servants before him leave, but they had been doing their duties elsewhere when they came for Tyler. He hadn't understood at the time why Viscount Marcus had done nothing but watch as Tyler was taken away. But as the process repeated and his father was forced from the house, the Viscount had simply stood watching them drag his father out. After Pavel saw them lock his father up in some caged back of a hovercar he looked to the Viscount, who'd smiled to himself and then walked back into the house where he went to wait for his breakfast in the dining room. He'd never liked the Viscount since he could remember, but after that moment, Pavel decided he hated him.

He was outside beating the carpets. Like his mother, Pavel needed something on which he could take his anger, his hatred, his sadness. He pretended the carpet was the Viscount's smug face, and then he swung, watching as the dust and dirt flew from the carpet, imagining it was the smile being pounded off the Viscount's face.

He heard his mother sob in an area of the garden. His mother never sobbed. He gave one last whack to the carpet before he went to lean over the stone rail that overlooked this area of the garden. But his mother had left. Her basket was still where she'd put it near the lettuce. Then, Pavel noticed that she was running off down the narrow lane that eventually led to the orchard. When he saw to what she ran, Pavel dropped his mallet and followed her.

Natasha had yanked up a particularly stubborn plant that knocked her back to sit on the dirt. She went to reposition herself to remove more of the plants, but movement caught her eyes. She wiped away her nearly constant tears with her dirty sleeve. When she understood that what she saw could not possibly be from her imagination, her grief turned into joy in the span of a single, draining sob. With more energy than she'd thought herself capable, Natasha got to her feet and ran, still sobbing.

Spock watched as Natasha realized he had succeeded, and that Christopher walked at his side. He'd found a sturdy branch for him to use as a temporary cane, knowing that the one the guards had confiscated was certainly lost forever. It did not matter. A cane did not matter compared to Christopher's life. A crude stick would do. Natasha began to run towards them, her dirt-smudged face streaked by her tears, but her laughter struggling with her sobs. As soon as Christopher saw her, his face lit up and his eyes filled with tears. He could never run again, but he could hurry – and he did.

When husband and wife finally met, their hands explored each other's features like newlyweds – memorizing each contour of the other's face, the feel of their hair, the calluses on their hands, and the taste of their lips.

Spock distracted himself by fiddling with the flowers in his hands. They'd met Sulu in the stables, where he'd immediately ushered Spock into a stall so that he could change his clothing. If the Viscount saw Spock wearing his clothes, they all knew the entire day would have been for nothing. Sulu brought a bag to put them in, reminding him to clean the Viscount's clothes. "The way that man's like a bird of prey, he'd know someone did something to them. Make them pristine again." Spock had already thought of this, but he knew Sulu cared for him and didn't want anything to happen to him. Sulu had helped Spock into the role of a lord, and he was there again to bring him home again as the servant. Sulu had kept his word and arranged two large bouquets that he could use for Janice's rooms as he'd told the Viscount. He knew he was late returning, but he would endure it. Any punishment the Viscount would give for his tardiness would be more than worth it to be able to witness the uncontrollable joy of Christopher and Natasha's reunion. When he looked back to them, he saw that Pavel had joined them, plastering himself to his father's side. Spock watched the reunited family contently. He had done this. He had prevented this happiness from being torn asunder.

Natasha ran to Spock and cupped his cheek in her hands. "Thank you," she sobbed the words.

Spock covered her hand with one of his own. "You are my family," he said, as though those four simple words explained all of his actions.

She understood enough it seemed, and she brought him over to her husband and son, where all of them embraced and held each other, relieved and happy to be together.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Jim wanted to get this discussion with his father over with as soon as possible, so he didn't even really wait for his mother, her attendants, or anyone else really, to lead or otherwise escort him to where the king awaited his presence to probably yell at him for his flight from home. By the grumbling behind him, he knew that Bones accompanied the little group. The Captain of the Guard got along exceedingly well with the queen – to a point that concerned Jim. He could never do much of anything without his mother knowing about it, and he knew it was because she'd always ask Bones, and he would always tell her. If Jim asked, McCoy would hide certain details but he would be as truthful to the queen as possible – lying to either the King or Queen formed grounds for serious criminal charges, after all.

As soon as the prince entered the room in which King George awaited him, of all unimaginative places the throne room, he spoke, the sentence immediately telling Jim what kind of conversation this was intended to be. "For your little stunt, you are restricted to the Royal Grounds."

Having just had a Vulcan publicly announce his reasoning as to why the king's laws were flawed, Jim was prepared to deal with anything his father could have said to him that on a normal day would have angered him. But today was far from a normal day in his life. He'd snuck out of his tower window, stolen a horse, been attacked by a servant for it, tracked down a gypsy thief, had an eligible girl practically thrown at him by her father and of her own will, and lastly met the most intriguing Vulcan he'd ever met. Not that he had much experience with Vulcans, but all of the ones that he had met had been dry, stoic, flat, but unerringly polite. S'haile Sybok, though, had been passionate. He had never encountered a passionate Vulcan before and it was a pleasant change from the ones that he had met. He smiled as he replied to his father, "You must be joking; you're ordering me on house arrest?"

George raised his eyes to meet his son's, expecting to find them fiery in anger but found them instead to be shining in mirth. For some reason, James's amusement only angered him more than if the boy had shouted back at him. "When it comes to your discipline, I do not joke. And as only one of two people in this universe that is still able to order you about, I can and I am restricting your movements. I didn't with your brother, but so far, I still can with you." He hurriedly poured himself a glass of wine, and took a long drink from it.

Jim felt the itch of a smile, but knew it would only incense his father if he were to laugh in his face. Instead, he chose to harden his voice. "What makes you think I'll obey? It didn't stop Sam."

George slammed the goblet onto the table and glared at his younger son. Up until now, James had always been the obedient son, the respectful one, the happier child. That all changed only last night with the letters from the king's eldest son. He had thought that coming into his responsibility would temper Samuel, and eventually settle him into being a dutiful young man, and so he had not often disciplined the boy, had not restricted him freedoms, had not curbed enthusiasm for other interests. It had been a mistake, one that he would not repeat with his second son. He only regretted that James had to pay for Samuel's disobedience and impulsive choices. "Perhaps you should turn your anger to the one deserving of it, James! It is because of your brother that we are all in this situation, you know. So, if you can manage to reach him, perhaps you should thank Samuel for leaving your mother and me to fix the chaos he's left behind. Thank him for leaving you to finish carrying out the promises he made and for forcing the duties that would have belonged to him onto you!"

Jim felt his anger beginning to leave. He was the second born. None of this was supposed to be his responsibility.

"So you will listen to what I need you to do in order to fix this mess your brother left us. You will obey me, or—"

"Or what?" Jim shouted over his father. "You'll sell me like a valuable commodity to the highest bidder? Just to keep peace with your strongest ally?" He did not want to hear any more of the king's raging. He turned to go, but with seven words his father stopped him.

"You are the Crown Prince of Terra!"

Jim didn't turn to the king, but looked to his mother instead. "What?"

Winona's face crumbled from the jubilant mask she'd worn in public and all the way into this room at her son's stunned, uncomprehending question. "There's been word." She went to the large table where the king had been hunched over various documents and padd readouts. She picked up a single folded sheet.

Jim followed her to the table, needing to know something very important. "Is Sam okay?" If what the king had said was true, that he was now the heir of Terra, then there were only two explanations. He held his breath that it was not the worst.

Winona handed Jim the paper. He snatched it from her and feverishly unfolded it, reading the handwritten words quickly. "Your brother has married some woman named—"

Jim didn't care about that. He searched for one particular phrase, and found it almost immediately. "And then he abdicated."

Before Jim could fully understand what that meant for him, the king continued speaking. "Terra is now your life, James. You will take your brother's place in this contract with Vulcan and wed T'Sai T'Pring for everyone's sake."

'What you love is your life,' Montgomery Scott had said earlier today. Jim crumbled Sam's letter and threw it to the floor. "I've never even met her! I didn't even know her name until right now!" He certainly didn't love her, this unknown Vulcan woman. How could he devote his life to someone and something that he didn't even know?

"I'm afraid, sweetheart, that this is one of only many burdens of Royalty," Winona said, trying to soothe her son.

He shook his head, denying his mother's empty words. "To marry a complete stranger?" He scoffed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mother, but how content did that make you?" At his words, Winona looked stricken.

"Happiness and love is not something that matters to Vulcans," the king took over the conversation in the brief silence. "If it did they wouldn't blindly seek a marriage contract with anyone. What they want is stability and security. They reached out to us as their closest ally, and we accepted them."

Jim didn't exactly sulk. "It matters to me."

George rose and went right up to his son. "What would you have me do, James? Live forever to spare you from going through with an arranged marriage?"

Jim shouted back into his father's face. "To spare me from a loveless one, yes! I don't want the crown! And I don't want to marry some random Vulcan girl who's probably being forced into this as much as I am!" Frustrated and angry he whirled to leave, this time determined to succeed in walking through those doors. He stopped, however, not as his father roared his name, but when he had one more thing to say to his father. "Sam was the smart one! At least he can be happy with someone he loves." With that, Jim left the throne room.

Winona looked to Captain McCoy. "Please, can you—"

McCoy nodded as he replied, "I'll speak with him, Majesty." He bowed quickly and then pursued his prince, his charge, and his friend.

Winona watched him leave, wishing that the conversation had gone differently. She watched as George bent to pick up the letter that Jim had discarded. He stormed to one of the fireplaces then hurled the letter of abdication into the flames, standing there to watch it burn. As she looked at him, and heard her son's voice asking that hurtful question, she thought back on her life. Since she had been a child, Winona had been told how wonderful her wedding would be one day, how glorious, and how happy she would be as a bride. But what she'd been told had not come true for her. All she could recall was the terror, the reluctance, and her tears. She turned away from George and poured herself a very full glass of wine.

~X~X~X~X~X~

When Spock entered Janice's rooms he was greeted with a sharp statement. "You're supposed to knock and ask permission to enter a lady's room, but I suppose you were never taught things like manners, were you?"

"May I enter, my lady?" he asked to appease her.

"Why?" she snapped impatiently.

Spock raised the vase of flowers he had intended to place in her rooms, his excuse for his absence from the house. "I have brought you a floral assortment. Do you not prefer them?"

Finally, she turned to him, but not to look at him. She looked at the flowers. "Put them here on the vanity," she ordered. She was seated before her mirror, slowly brushing her fire-red hair. Spock did as she commanded, knowing that she preferred them in the upper left corner, not blocking the mirror, nor in the way of her perfumes and blushes and colorings. He adjusted the flowers so that they would be displayed most pleasingly from her perspective.

"If that is all, my lady," he began, but was interrupted by Janice.

"My father wants to speak to you, half-breed."

Spock didn't freeze from the insulting term, but from what her statement might imply. The Viscount knew. Somehow he must know that Spock had stolen his clothing, worn them, went to the palace, and brought Christopher Pike home. "May I ask where—"

"Right here, you stupid Vulcan." Spock turned quickly to look right at the Viscount's approaching figure. Before he could even speak, the Viscount's hand shot upward and backhanded him across the face, knocking him to his right and into the vanity where Janice sat. As he hit the wall, Spock heard the vase shatter on the floor. The flowers had fallen when he'd been propelled back into the vanity.

"My flowers!" wailed Janice. "You've ruined them!" Spock knew she would never dare say this to her father, so it only followed that she'd meant it for him.

"How dare you do this to us!" the Viscount shouted at him.

"What have I done?" Spock asked. He had only brought Janice flowers. Unless the Viscount knew of his journey to the palace on his own, Spock would never volunteer that information.

"What have you done?" mocked Janice, pushing him. Spock tilted off-balance and fell to the floor amongst the broken vase and the now ruined flowers. He looked up and saw Carol standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. "As if you don't know, you stupid thing!"

The Viscount waved Janice off, silencing her with only a gesture. "You lied to me – to Janice – deceived us this morning. And I refuse to tolerate such insolence from you! Now tell me the truth!" By the time he had finished, the Viscount was shouting loudly.

Spock was terrified of revealing anything he should not. The credits that the prince had thrown to him were to ensure that he would remain silent. He had honored the prince's demand, and not mentioned the incident to the Viscount during breakfast. A prince's command was more important than a Viscount's in every respect. But he was the Viscount's stepson, the man was his guardian. He did not know what to do or what he should say. "Did you forget?" whimpered Janice, mocking his silence, and mistaking it for fear. He was not afraid of her or the Viscount. He was afraid of what withholding the truth would mean for his real family – for Christopher, Natasha, and Pavel. He'd freed Pike once, but he knew he would never be able to do so again. "Think hard, stupid Vulcan!" she screamed at him.

The Viscount stood over him, formidable and intimidating, but it was not he to whom Spock looked. Spock looked to the doorway again, seeing that Natasha and Pike had arrived at the sounds of the shrieking and looking worriedly over Carol's shoulder. They did not move. Carol swallowed nervously, and then very slowly nodded her head to him. Spock understood what Carol did not dare say aloud. "Prince James took one of the horses today," he confessed, obeying his stepfather over the command of silence from the prince. Spock felt like he had betrayed his prince by telling his stepfather the truth.

The smile that spread across the Viscount's face announced his dominating satisfaction. "Which explains his surprise visit to my house, doesn't it? If you'd told the truth during breakfast, we would've been better prepared for the Prince's arrival!"

"I—"

"You're very lucky that Janice always knows how to look and act her best." The Viscount's smile became proud. "She seems to have caught His Highness's eye." A moment later, that pride vanished when he glared down at Spock. "But he said something interesting about you." Spock snapped his gaze to the Viscount, alarmed. The prince had told the Viscount of Spock's assault on him. The Viscount would sell him away like he had Pike for this. "He said that you were fierce. What did you do to him?" Spock did not dare confess this. He could not.

"He probably tried to attack the prince, but failed to make a difference," Janice speculated. "He did take a horse, after all."

"And he didn't seem injured when we saw him," agreed the Viscount. He leveled his eyes on Spock again. "I'm waiting."

Spock refused to prove Janice's idea correct. He thought of the encounter again in his mind. Then, he had something that he could tell him. "I accused him of thievery and forbade him from taking one of our horses. At the time, I did not know his identity."

His answer from the Viscount and Janice came in the form of arrogant, disbelieving laughter. Spock hung his head to hide his own relief. The prince had not told them that Spock had attacked him. Perhaps he had known that it would mean trouble for Spock and withheld that information. Spock said a silent thanks to the prince, knowing it to be an illogical action, but not caring.

"Well," the Viscount said after he'd recovered from his laughter, "since I expect Prince James to return here to see Janice again, I want you to see that this house remains as clean as possible. I will not have us looking like peasants when hosting a royal visitation. Do you understand?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, Viscount." He only wondered how he would ever explain to the prince that S'haile Sybok willingly dressed in poor clothing and worked diligently to clean this home and serve the Viscount and his daughters their meals.

"Good." The Viscount turned to leave and caught sight of Christopher Pike. He stopped in surprise. He never thought he would see the man again. "Pike, what are you doing here?"

Christopher straightened. "A wealthy benefactor had arranged for my return home. He covered…my debts and demanded only that I return to the manor to continue to serve my lord to the best of my ability." He figured that something close to the truth would be enough to convince Viscount Marcus.

The two men looked at each other in the eyes, the Viscount searching for deceit and Pike confident that Marcus would not find it. "Fine," the Viscount decided. "Welcome home, Pike."

~X~X~X~X~X~

After hours of searching in the databases and even the printout documents on census records, Prince Jim decided to give up for now. He could find no record of a S'haile Sybok…at least not on Terra. He had two options open to him, and he preferred neither – go to the Vulcan delegation's liaison and ask her to look into the matter, or seek assistance from his mother or the king. He'd only met the Vulcan liaison when they'd arrived, but had been more than surprised to discover that she was human – a rather attractive and fierce human. He'd made the mistake, apparently, of complimenting Miss Uhura on her beauty and had been rewarded with disdain ever since. She'd even gone so far as to predict that he would be looking at others even after he'd been formally attached to T'Sai T'Pring, and nothing he could say could persuade her otherwise. No, Jim excluded her as an option. That only left his parents. After the recent conversation – a kind word for it – with his father, Jim was reluctant to approach him on this matter. That left only his mother.

With a sigh, Jim went in search of her, aware of Captain McCoy shadowing him as soon as he left his rooms. McCoy had been ordered to stand guard personally at the prince's door by His Majesty, but he would never tell Jim that. Instead, he'd told him that he wanted to stay nearby in case the prince wanted to get something off of his mind or maybe even needed a sparring partner at an odd hour of the night. McCoy may not be as young as he'd used to be, but he could still more than hold his own in a fight.

"No luck, huh, Jim?"

If there was one thing about his palace life for which the prince was grateful, it was his Captain of the Guard's refusal to obey proper address when they were alone or out of earshot. It made things feel a tiny bit closer to what normal probably felt like. "No. I swore I heard him right when he said his name, but—" he stopped to release a frustrated sigh, "—I can't find him, and I mean anything, on a S'haile Sybok."

"You only looked on Terran records," McCoy stated.

"Where else am I supposed to look?" Jim asked, his frustration beginning to come through in his voice. "I don't know what his home planet is—"

"I'm going to take a stab here and say it's probably Vulcan."

Jim stopped walking just so that he could half-heartedly glare at McCoy. "Shut up, Bones." Then, they resumed walking.

"Where are we headed, Jim?"

The reply was glum. "To speak with my mother. Know where she is at the moment?"

McCoy got out his communicator and asked his staff if they'd seen the queen. Within seconds, McCoy steered Jim towards the Royal Gardens. "Be aware, Jim, that since your little family chat, your mother's been slowly nursing glass after glass of wine."

Jim nodded. He hadn't meant to hurt his mother by bringing up her own arranged marriage. He'd only wanted to make a point that he remained steadfastly against one for himself. It hadn't done any good, it seemed, since his father stayed determined to wed him to this Vulcan girl.

They found Her Majesty quickly enough, and she was still sipping from a glass. Her attendant walked just behind her, the jug of wine ready to refill the queen's glass. Jim announced his presence with a soft, "Evening, Mother." She did not jump at his voice, did not seem startled. Had she been expecting him?

"Sweetheart," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Mom, how long have you been at this?"

"Oh, since…your father demanded you marry a strange woman." Jim made to take the glass from her hands, but she twisted away from his reach. "No, James. I am the queen! If I choose to have a drunken night, then I will, and no one will stop me."

Jim shook his head, deciding to let her keep her wine, but he discreetly dismissed her attendant. He would let her keep that glass, but he would not have her passing out in the middle of the gardens – not because he'd hurt her and driven her to try to make herself forget through wine. "I came to ask you a question, and maybe for your help."

That interested Winona. "Really, James?"

"I'm trying to find someone, and all I have is his name, but…I may have misheard it."

Winona resumed her walk through the garden. Jim kept her slow pace while McCoy lingered a polite seven paces behind them. "And the name you believe belongs to him?"

"S'haile Sybok, son of Skon."

She tilted her head in interest. "A Vulcan, then." That her son found a Vulcan – any Vulcan – interesting after the events of the last twenty-four hours was certainly a surprise. "Did he insult you? Steal from us?"

Jim actually chuckled at the questions. "No, of course not. I just find him very…intriguing is all."

Winona studied her son. There was a shine in his eyes that spoke of something other than mere curiosity, something in his step that seemed less weighed by a duty he did not expect. "I see," she said.

"He told me that he's staying with an old family acquaintance, but he didn't tell me who they were, or where they reside. I thought I could find him by just his name, but I can't. There's nothing on him in our records."

She sipped her wine. "Have you approached Miss Uhura to look in the Vulcan records?"

Jim shook his head. "That woman can't stand me." And she was a little bit intimidating when she wanted to be. "I don't want her to get the wrong idea about it."

"And what is the wrong idea?"

Jim had no idea how to answer that. And when he had no answer, it was the time to evade the question. "I came to ask if you've ever heard of him."

Winona shook her head, which Jim had honestly expected but had hoped would be a different response. "Vulcan is a tricky language. Perhaps you have heard wrong. In any case, there are quite a high number of Vulcan nobility – and I'd wager that many of them have similar names." She knew he had avoided her earlier question. She tried to rephrase it. "Why do you ask, sweetheart?"

Jim smiled at her, but she could easily recognize a false smile in her youngest and expressive son. "It's not important."

"James!" shouted his father from the other end of their chosen garden path. Jim grimaced and Winona took a deep drink of her wine. George walked quickly to his wife and son. "I have spent far too long thinking about our conversation from this afternoon, but I may have finally come up with something that can suit my conditions and your demands."

Winona dreaded whatever words would next come from her husband's mouth. To her surprise, it was not as terrible as she'd feared.

"You desire to wed someone you love, and I demand that you marry T'Pring. The latter is scheduled to occur seven days from now. I give you until the fifth to find the love you seek. If you do, you are free to wed the one of your choosing. If you do not, you will marry T'Pring. How we will announce your choice – whether for love or for duty – will be at a masque ball six days from now that we will say is to honor the achievements of Engineer Montgomery Scott for his work on the transporter system he is attempting to improve. Do you agree to these terms?"

George's words left not only Winona and Jim stunned. McCoy tried very hard to conceal his own surprise. King George had never before compromised on anything. Luckily, Jim was the first to recover from that shock. "And if I decide on someone other than T'Pring? What happens to the alliance with Vulcan?"

George sighed deeply. "I will worry about that if it happens, James. Your challenge is much harder. Are we agreed?"

Winona looked at her husband as though she had never met the man until that moment. Perhaps he had had an epiphany about his family. He'd already succeeded in pushing their eldest son away from them with his rigid demands. Maybe when James had tried to defend himself, it had led to George determining that he did not wish to repeat the same occurrence with their last remaining son. Whatever it was that brought the king to this offer, Winona was grateful.

So, apparently, was James. His mouth had fallen open in shock and his mind struggled to understand what his father had given him. It was not much time, but it was more than he could hope for. Then, he smiled brightly at his father. "We are. Thank you, Father."


	5. Chapter 4 - Close Calls

**Author's Note:**_ Happy New Year, everyone. Here is a bonus update for several chapters at once. Enjoy! ~ RK _

**Chapter Four – Close Calls**

Viscount Marcus had read the invitation over with impressive speed. Of all of the royal messengers to deliver this to his door, he was pleased to see that it had been Gary Mitchell. The Mitchells, long in service of the royal family for generations, were not the sharpest minds in the realm. But the less sharp the mind, the easier it proved to manipulate to one's advantage. Marcus had already done this with the father over a decade ago. If this boy had hoped to collect on his late father's promised price, then he was very much mistaken. His father's service had been the first phase. The second had been to slowly dismiss the staff members of this manor to lessen the number of prying eyes and ears about. The third was only now potentially about to begin. But Viscount Marcus had been patient, and would continue to be in order to see it through.

"And the word regarding the Vulcan arrangement?" he asked.

"It can be voided on one condition, or so I've heard," informed Gary.

"And that is?"

"If he were to choose his own—"

"His own bride," Marcus took over, "then the marriage to Vulcan is off."

Gary nodded. "But he's to choose before that date." He nodded towards the invitation.

This boy thought he was so clever, thinking he was in charge of the situation. The fool. Gary's father had thought the same thing, but he had turned up dead, an accident, of course. Marcus decided to play along. "Then, I believe we must come to an arrangement."

"My thoughts exactly," Gary agreed. This was far too simple. It almost took the enjoyment out of it.

But not quite. "I'll need to know everything regarding the schedule of Prince James, where he plans to be, who he spends time with most, and if there is any competition for my Janice."

"You wish me to spy on the prince?"

Perhaps Gary wasn't as stupid as his father, but not much smarter either. If he were only to grasp the minimum about the situation, then the Viscount could work with that. "See to it that my daughter, Janice, becomes queen. In return, my other daughter, Carol, is yours to wed. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be my son, under my protection, and would inherit my lands and estate. Consider it a thank you for both your father's and your service to me."

Gary allowed a smile to slowly form. He would indeed like that. He wasn't paid a decent wage as a messenger, even for royalty. To marry Viscount Marcus's daughter would mean that he would become related to the royal family, and become a landed nobleman, both of which were very advantageous positions to hold. He would be a fool to refuse. Decision made, he leaned toward the Viscount. "The prince is sparring publicly with one of the Vulcan delegation's guards, tomorrow at noon. He's hoping to show his dedication to learning Vulcan culture for his bride."

There was only one place where public combats-of-sport were exhibited. Viscount Marcus smiled. "I will be there."

~X~X~X~X~X~

She stood on the ladder while Spock waited for the snipped branches to fall to the ground. They were pruning the trees. Natasha got rid of the branches that inhibited the flourishing growth of the tree as a whole, while Spock would pick up the discarded branches, strip the leaves, and chop them down into sizes that could easily fit in the fireplaces, sorting them all by thickness of the limbs. "I wish I'd been able to see you at the palace, looking like the lordling you are, and speaking with your father's precision."

Spock tossed one of the thick pieces into the bigger wheelbarrow. "Natasha, my precision was used to scold the prince about the king's laws. I should have been arrested."

Natasha laughed as she worked on the next branch. "Christopher didn't do the moment justice when he told me, then. He said the prince followed you after he was released and you'd started walking away, only to—"

"Demand my name," Spock finished. He sighed as he picked up another log he'd chopped down.

Spock never – or at least very rarely – sighed. Natasha stopped her work on the branch and looked at him. "What did you tell him?"

He looked up at her, a strange look in his eyes. "S'haile Sybok, son of Skon."

She nodded knowingly. "Your brother…although he's certainly not your grandfather's son. Decided to skip right over your father?"

Spock's eyes flashed in anger. "I did not wish to give him a name that would make his search simple. Had I given him Sarek's name, His Highness would easily discover that I had lied."

Natasha smiled. "If I were in his position I would have tried to look up your records, and when I had found nothing on a Sybok, son of Skon I would have known in that moment that you'd lied to me." She felled the next branch. "He knows you lied." Then she shrugged. "Either that or he's too stupid to think you would have lied and thinks that your record is buried somewhere in a Vulcan database, which he most likely can't read."

"I'm certain he can, Natasha. He is hosting a Vulcan delegation. How would they speak?" He dragged this large branch to his chopping block.

"Probably an interpreter, dear." Natasha searched out her next target. "But back to you giving the prince your brother's name."

Spock worked to saw off section of the branch to get some logs to split. "My dead brother's name and only half of it! If the prince wishes to find me, he will only discover a half-Vulcan boy who perished during his infancy and is buried among others at the estate on Vulcan, a place I have never seen due to Skon banishing his son for wedding a human female, and then producing a sickly child that died far too early."

Natasha wondered if Spock were being both figurative and literal in that moment. Sybok had died as an infant, but Spock is healthy, strong, and intelligent. However, she'd once overheard the Viscount discuss how he had no male heir to inherit the estate when he would die. She'd passed it off as the man's determination not to allow Spock to claim anything of his mother's, but now she wondered if there had been something more to the Viscount's words. "Do you fear that the prince will figure you out then, and take you away?"

"I have lied to royalty, an inexcusable offense." He split another log.

Natasha sawed off another branch, then climbed down the ladder so that she could move on to the next tree. "You also beat the prince in our stable, but he forgave you for that."

Spock shook his head. "He should not have."

She steadied the ladder on the next tree, making sure it was stable. "Spock, he's royalty. They do whatever they decide pleases them." She thought that would be the end of their conversation for a little while. Up the ladder she climbed to reach the branches that needed removing.

"Did you hear the Viscount crowing that Janice attracted the prince?" Spock said, glumly.

"It's the only thing anyone hears in this place is that it'll be Princess Janice soon." Her tone made it very clear how she disliked the notion.

Spock did not feel the same as Natasha – that disgusted anger. Instead, he felt saddened, not for himself but for the prince. He seemed kind, though admittedly irritatingly persistent. "He deserves better than Janice."

At those words, Natasha came back down the ladder and went directly to him. "The toilets in this entire estate deserve better than Janice." She reached up and brushed a loose lock of his long hair away from him eyes. "But, Spock, Prince James is _entitled_ to someone better than Janice."

It took a great deal of his control not to smile at her words – both what she said and what she did not.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Come on, Bones!" he chirruped as he left his rooms, still in the midst of putting on his long riding jacket.

Mumbling to himself, Captain McCoy grumpily followed his friend. "Where are we going? You never get up and going unless you're trying to sneak off somewhere."

Jim shot him a look that questioned both McCoy's sanity and memory. "It's ten in the morning. I've been up at the latest by nine ever since I was – what? – seven years old? I think you're getting senile, Bones."

"You know, I resent that, Highness."

Jim just laughed. When Montgomery Scott asked him to accompany him on a tour of the nearest orchards and wineries, Prince James couldn't move quickly enough. He didn't even care that the engineer's excuse was to get some test subjects for his work. Jim was willing to use any excuse to get out of the Royal Grounds on the slim chance that he could just possibly run into Sybok again. If his pestering him eventually won him the Vulcan's name, then maybe a little more pestering could let him find out where he was staying or at least why he couldn't find any sort of record on him!

"We're going to some wineries and orchards. Apparently, Scotty wants to try his technology on inanimate objects first."

McCoy now matched stride with his excited prince. "I sure hope so, Jim, otherwise he's risking homicide by scattering people's atoms all over who knows where in the delusional hope that he's able to put them back together again somewhere else."

Jim turned around so that he could fully face McCoy, only he didn't stop walking – he just went backwards now. "Does transporter technology make you nervous?" he teased. "I think it's awesome."

McCoy grabbed the prince's shoulders and bodily repositioned him so that he wouldn't run into the column he'd been heading straight for as he walked backwards. Jim never broke stride, but let his friend reposition him. "You would think it's a good idea. But someone like me sees so many ways that it can go wrong."

As he threw his head back in exasperation, Jim turned back around. "Oh, come on! You're just too stubbornly set in your ways." His excited, bouncing step turned into a light jog as soon as they emerged outside. McCoy hoped they were going to take horses today. "You have my medkit, right?" Jim asked.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I always have your damn medkit!"

"Okay good!" Jim flashed a smile. "Because I plan to sample almost anything that smells good to me."

When they rounded the corner both men saw Montgomery Scott waiting by a trio of horses. One of them had been hitched to a small cart – presumably for his anticipated test subjects. Jim easily mounted his horse and impatiently waited for his companions to ready themselves for their outing. That was when McCoy finally figured it out. "Jim, why the hell are you so happy today?" Jim just flashed him another smile.

The engineer got up onto his horse last. As soon as he settled, their small group set out. "I hear, Prince laddie, that you are supposed to go about findin' a replacement for your Vulcan bride within five days."

McCoy thought the mention of marriage would have dimmed the prince's spirits, but it in fact had zero impact. "That's right, Mister Scott," he answered for the prince. "Damned if I know how he's going to decide that one."

"Isn't that why you convinced my father to forget all about my house arrest?" Jim asked. "So that I could – wait, how did you put it?"

McCoy sighed. "So you could search out your one true love and torment us all in your disgusting happiness for the rest of our days."

Jim laughed. "Right, that was it."

Montgomery Scott asked the question that most likely everyone had been wondering. "So, where's it you plannin' on startin' the process?"

His laughter died then. He'd been dealing with this problem already. He thought he'd had somewhere solid to start but it had gotten him nowhere, and he was back to square one. Now with his father's demanding compromise, he had no time to keep running into a dead end. His only hope was that he would encounter Sybok by wandering around the realm…which would take time. What if he never found him again? Should he have a backup plan? The thing was that Jim didn't want a backup plan, but the reality of the matter was that he had no way of finding Sybok unless blind luck intervened. Luck, unfortunately, was something in which he didn't hold much faith. Besides, even with luck like that, the king and queen would hardly welcome a male as their heir's spouse. He couldn't have children of his own with a male. Perhaps he should give up on the intriguing Vulcan and look for someone else, someone female. "I have no idea," he admitted. "But I guess our little tour is as good a place to start as any, right, Scotty?"

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was times like this in which Viscount Marcus wondered whether it would have been easier to have sons instead of daughters. His skill in choosing the perfect dress for his daughter lacked severely. Then again, the entire problem could be that he was trying to help his daughter choose a compliment-inspiring dress. He knew only one perspective when it came to dresses and that was what he liked on a woman, what color he liked a woman to wear. But when it came to choosing a dress for another man's enjoyment, and on his daughter no less, that was where his wardrobe choosing skill ended.

"Why are you dismissing this one?"

Janice rolled her eyes at her father for the uncountable time. "Because that one is green."

Marcus felt the green silk between his fingers. "I thought Prince James prefers this color."

Janice huffed. "Father, if even _you_ know that the prince's favorite color is green, then that means everyone who hopes to get his attention knows that, and they'll all be wearing it!" She continued searching through her large closet. "I will be the one to stand out in a sea of green by wearing a color other than green!" she shrieked.

Marcus sighed. He had no idea what to do, other than make sure that Carol wore green so that she could be as unnoticeable as every other girl Janice was convinced would be wearing green.

Carol, speak of the devil, came into the room with a dress half-zipped up her back. She'd had this dress since just after she began to develop her womanly shape. She knew there would be no way that it would fit her now, considering her grown breasts and widened hips. She looked at her father and tried to plead with him with her eyes. "Do we really not have enough credits to afford a new formal dress for me?"

Marcus knew that he did, but there was no way he intended to spend any of it on Carol. "I'm sorry, darling. We'll have to see if we can take one of your old ones out at the seams. Perhaps if you didn't eat so much this wouldn't be a problem."

Carol almost let her tears fall. She knew she was healthy, but borderline too thin for her height and age. It wasn't that she ate too much. It was that her father only just barely acknowledged her existence. She looked around Janice's room, seeing the numerous dresses flung onto the floor, strewn across furniture pieces, and the seemingly endless hangers crammed into her closet. She knew that some of those dresses would eventually come to her as hand-me-downs, but not until they had been damaged in some way – a tear along a seam, stains on the skirt edging, the ornate trim falling off. Carol's clothing was all faded and clearly seemed second-hand. Whenever she went out with her father and sister, people looked at her like she was their servant, not their family. The very first time she had ever been singled out in a positive way was by the prince's guard yesterday, and it made her heart flutter with the hope that he wasn't being cruel, that it wasn't a jest, that someone for once had actually noticed Carol Ann Marcus instead of Janice Lestra Patricia Marcus! She wanted to go to the masque, dressed as a lady like her sister. She wanted to find that guard, ask him his name, maybe have a drink with him, and just talk about nothing and everything. She wanted just one night where she felt like someone that mattered. And she wanted to wear something nice for it on the unlikely occurrence that that guard – she really wanted to know his name! – was actually interested in some way in her.

But her father had just said no to that dream.

"I do not have any suitable dresses, father."

Viscount Marcus frowned at her. "This masque is not about you, this is about one thing: making sure that Prince James chooses Janice as his bride."

Janice flung another dress to the floor. "Which will not happen unless I look like his bride when I arrive! Nothing here says that I am a princess!"

He hated to see his daughter nearly in tears. Suddenly, he had an idea. "Come with me, my dearest."

Carol saw the predatory look in Janice's eyes – the deadly excitement – and she followed her father and sister from Janice's rooms all the way to a rarely used suite in the manor. It had been Spock's childhood rooms before her father had forbidden him to enter them again, calling them only worthy for his future grandchildren. By that phrase, Carol knew he had meant any children Janice would have, since he had never mentioned to her of a potential match. It was another reason why she so very much wanted to look her best for Mister Guard. She thought he might even be the prince's Captain of the Guard. Perhaps she could call him Captain Guard…or Captain Royal. She liked Captain Royal better, at least until she learned his name, if she ever learned his name.

She stood in the doorway and watched as Viscount Marcus went directly to a carved cedar trunk and opened it. A moment later, he slowly took out a dress and held it up for Janice to see. The ivory dress was clearly made from a luxuriously expensive fabric just by the way it flowed elegantly as it moved. The gown's solid fabric ended at the bust in a simple dipped neckline. Attached to the dress was a lace over-gown from the bottom hem and up to the collar, including delicate sleeves. This over-gown was interwoven with gold threading and tiny sewn-in gemstones of sapphire, aquamarine, and paraiba tourmaline. The dress shimmered each time the light caught it from a different angle. It was truly the most magnificent dress that Carol had ever seen.

Janice seemed to agree by her breathless admiration of it. "Father, it's perfect!"

Carol decided to remind them of her presence. "Whose dress was that?"

The Viscount looked at his younger daughter as though she were stupid. Sometimes he even thought she was stupid. He decided to humor her this time. "Belonged to Amanda from her first marriage to that alien. She left it for Spock in her will."

Janice looked offended. "Why? It's not like he'll need it!"

"And the alien's wedding clothes, too," Marcus drawled, making it more than clear how he felt about Amanda's first husband.

Carol may not know much about Vulcan culture but even she knew that it had been an enduring tradition of the noble families to pass family items – particularly those of important significance – through generations of the family line. They served as reflections of the past, and monuments of those long gone. She wondered how her father and sister could function in this society without knowing anything about other cultures. But then she realized that even were they to know those practices, they would simply dismiss them as irrelevant because they were not human customs. Her family was small-minded and prejudiced.

Inside the chest where her father had withdrawn the dress was a second bundle. She assumed that within that folded fabric rested Lord Sarek's clothing from his wedding to Lady Amanda. Placed on top of it was a strange pendant – a symbol that Carol had never seen. It was forged metal in an interlocking circle and triangle with a carved blue gemstone, all suspended from a fine golden chain. It held obvious significance, but Carol had no idea what it could be, or know how she could find out.

"Besides," Janice tried to justify her father's proposed idea of, essentially, thievery. "It's a waste to keep it in a box and not used."

Carol usually held her tongue like her father demanded, but this…she would not stand idly and found complicit in this. "Father, they belong to Spock. Perhaps he'll want to wear his father's robes to the masque."

Janice only then seemed to realize Carol also stood in the room. "Why would Spock be allowed to go to the masque?"

"Because he's our stepbrother," Carol answered. "The invitation was for all family members, and he is family."

Janice laughed at her reasoning. "He's s servant, you idiot."

Their father turned his anger on Carol. "And he's not even human, so no one would even notice him being gone."

Carol couldn't believe the horrible things coming out of her father's mouth. "Does Spock know about these being left to him?"

Viscount Marcus frowned deeply. "He does, unfortunately."

"And you don't think that Spock won't notice you're stealing what's his?"

If Janice hadn't spoken first, Carol could have sworn that her father had been about to hit her. "Whose side are you even on?"

"It's not stealing when you own it," her father insisted. "Everything in this house is mine, including anything that may have been that half-bred creature's things. So it's up to me to decide what to do with everything, everyone, and anything in this estate!"

Carol tried not to let her fear show. "You've always taught me to be polite among others. I'm sure if you just pretended in this instance things would still go the way you wish. Why don't you just ask Spock about it?"

Viscount Marcus looked livid. He'd opened his mouth to heatedly reply when a timid voice asked from the doorway, "Ask me what?"

All three of them turned to see Spock standing in the doorway of the room he had not been permitted to enter since his mother's death, awkwardly holding freshly split logs that were clearly not intended for the fireplace in this long abandoned and cold room. He guarded his expression, but he could not curb his rigid stance when he recognized the garment that his stepfather held up. He clutched the logs closer to his chest.

The Viscount measured Spock's posture, and the emotion always visible in his eyes. He wondered just how much the boy had heard. For the first time since seeing this troublesome Vulcan, he had nothing prepared to say. And so, the words that poured from his mouth surprised even himself. "Whether you would like to wear one of your father's ceremonial robes to the royal masque in five days." What had he just said?

Spock did not understand. "A masque? Me?" Then why was the Viscount holding his mother's bonding dress and not his father's robes? It did not make sense.

"Of course, Spock. The invitation that arrived asked for all family members to attend, and we wanted to surprise you." The lie was getting easier. "We knew you have nothing formal to wear and were looking through your parents' old clothes to find something suitable for you."

"I do not know what I should say," Spock admitted. This situation was quite strange. He tried to recall an instance – any at all – in which the Viscount or Janice had ever openly considered him part of their family. He could not. Was this a cruel jest?

"If you hadn't been so nosey," Janice added, "we would have had everything ready to surprise you better. But you found us first and ruined your own surprise."

"I thought it would be a good chance for you to truly experience all of the splendor you're missing when you work so hard on the manor," the Viscount said.

Spock had already seen quite enough of that splendor yesterday in his journey to free Pike. He'd encountered Prince James properly, spoken to him like an equal, though in actuality he'd scolded him and the king. If he went to this masque, he would certainly see him again. "I would like to go," he admitted quietly. But Spock would never admit aloud that he wanted to see Prince James again, especially not to the Viscount or Janice…and probably not Carol.

"Then, you will, provided you get all of your chores finished, and mind your manners towards us until that time."

Spock nodded. "Of course, sir."

Carol couldn't believe what had just happened. She couldn't stop the huff of that disbelief from escaping before she turned and left the room in disgust and shame of her father and sister. She'd always craved her father's affection, but if it would have resulted in deceit and lies and hurt to others like she suspected it would end up for Spock, she was glad that she had never had Viscount Marcus's love. It made disliking her own father easier.

~X~X~X~X~X~

By the time midday passed and the late afternoon hues colored the sky, Scotty had loaded his cart with a variety of things on which to test his transporter technology. He'd also purchased and thrown in there an impressive wine, cheese, and fruit collection. Jim had even purchased some for himself and for Bones. However, after hours and hours of having available women and men approaching him suggestively, he'd had enough of their tour. He knew that the next several days would be like this, especially now that word had gotten out that the prince was searching for a bride. His sanity just might break from a week of this nonsense. He just wanted some peace and quiet.

After a little persuasion, he and Scotty had convinced McCoy that they would survive heading home using a side road that ran along the river. One of the noblemen, whose daughter had been almost shoved onto his lap as he'd sampled some wine, had cautioned him that the road was commonly used by the peasantry and the servants. "I worry for Your Highness's safety should you find yourself among too many of them." It made Jim wonder if the man treated his own servants poorly enough that they would revolt against him.

Apparently, McCoy had had enough of Jim being accosted, too, as he growled to the man, "That's why I'm around, sir!" He rested one hand on his sword hilt and the other on his stun-phaser pointedly. It shut the man up quickly.

Jim never saw this area of his realm – the unfinished dirt roads that the lower classes were intended to travel upon. There was a benefit, though. There were trees that shaded them from the sun. On the paved roads of town there were not many trees. The sun burned you quickly. He much preferred this type of travel. It was relaxing, and that was precisely what he wanted at the moment. That and perhaps something to eat. So that he could enjoy the peaceful scenery, he'd asked Scotty to scope out a good place for them all to rest.

There were several places along the edge of the river that would allow for a decent impromptu picnic ground. There were large rocks along the river that had been eroded into smoothness by the water. Some of them dipped into the river like a hesitant swimmer while others formed more of an outcropped ledge that overlooked the water rather than ran into it. One of these would have to do, Scotty decided. He stopped the cart and dismounted his horse, heading toward the river to better investigate his chosen spot. The river was steady here, no loud rushes, just calm smooth water. The rocks sloped smoothly down into the river at a relaxing declining thirty degree angle, perfect for reclining and possibly catching a brief nap. Yes, this would do, indeed.

Jim enthusiastically helped Scotty get a few things from the laden cart while McCoy secured their horses. After all, McCoy had no ambition to walk all the way back to the palace – especially since it was more than likely he would be helping to haul the damn cart back there, too. "Bones, stop worrying about the horses escaping and sit down!" Jim called to him from close to the water. Grumbling to himself, the Captain of the Guard obeyed and flopped down moodily on the rock Scotty and Jim had set up for their lunch.

"Can I talk about something?" Jim asked as he sliced off a piece of the hard cheese with his knife.

"You're the damn prince," McCoy answered just before quickly taking a swig of the dry red wine. "You could say anything you want and everyone else has to listen."

Scotty snorted. "Or at least pretend to."

"I'm serious," Jim said, glumly.

That sobered McCoy immediately. It seemed it would be one of _those_ talks. "Okay, Jim. What's on your mind?"

Jim sighed. "What if I made a mistake insisting on this?" He felt like his clothing was strangling him. He took off his jacket and flung it to his left in the dirt and rock, then loosened the laces of his light shirt. At least he didn't feel like he was being suffocated by his clothes anymore. "What if I should just marry T'Pring and face the consequences?"

McCoy didn't like this side of Jim. "Then you'd be miserable the entire marriage because you didn't take the chance to make yourself happy." Scotty nodded in agreement.

Jim shook his head, plucking some grapes from their stems mindlessly. "I mean, I already know what I'd kind of be getting with her, right? Stoic, closed off. She probably never laughs. I don't think I've seen a single Vulcan laugh." McCoy wondered fleetingly if they even smiled. "She's probably very proper and prim and as perfect as a Vulcan bride would be, but…what if marrying her is a mistake, too?"

Scotty didn't even hide the fact that he was pouring some of their wine into a flask that he'd seemed to produce from the air. "Both of those scenarios can't be mistakes at the same time, laddie."

"If I pick someone to marry instead of T'Pring I could pick the wrong person. That would be a mistake. And if I do choose the wrong person, then wouldn't that be worse? Fracturing the alliance with Vulcan by rejecting her for someone who in the end made me a miserable husband?" The idea of marriage suddenly registered with Jim as he referred to himself as a husband. The responsibility, the pressure, and the permanency of it.

"Thing is, Jim," McCoy said quietly, "you won't be able to know that until you are married and living with them and—"

"By then it'd be too late, Bones." Divorce was not an option for royalty. It was why his mother had never left his father, he assumed. Then again, they seemed to at the very least tolerate each other, and manage to find common ground most of the time – but they never quite reached a level that could be called happiness. Jim didn't want that for himself. He wanted to be happy with whoever he married. He wanted to be near them, not to tolerate them. "How am I supposed to know who I should choose in less than a week? How can I even get to know someone in that time? What if I've already met them and just don't know it right now and only figure that out when I've already married someone else? What if I already let the one go that I'm supposed to be with? Am I supposed to just pick someone? Someone I know even less than T'Pring?"

"You don't even know T'Pring."

"That's exactly my point!" Jim growled back. "Either way I'm marrying a stranger." He took a long drink of the wine, and then sighed as he reclined back onto the rock to bask in the sun.

McCoy took a contemplative sip of his wine as he watched. He knew the person that had been occupying the prince's mind lately – the unusual young Vulcan lord. That Jim couldn't find him was probably making this all worse in his mind. When Jim got obsessed with something, he didn't stop until he had answers.

Scotty, while practically a professional when it came to drinking record-setting amounts of alcohol, had no intention of returning to the palace with a drunk prince. For that not to happen, he needed to distract him. "Laddie, have you ever experienced the joy of walkin' on water?"

Of all the things Jim expected either of his companions to say it was definitely not that. His brow came down in his confusion. "What?"

But the engineer was already on his feet and rooting through his cart. "I came up with these little gadgets a while back an' I thought if we happened to be near a lake one of us might enjoy the sport."

McCoy saw the childlike wonder in Jim's eyes, and it brought him to his own feet. "Hang on just a minute, man," he ordered. "Have you tested those things?"

"Aye, once or twice." Scotty had hustled the strange-looking mechanical shoes back to the prince and had already started to attach them to Jim's boots.

"On what, if you don't mind?" McCoy demanded of the other man.

"Um…grass, dirt, the usual."

"So not water is what you're telling me?" He didn't even wait for the Scotsman's reply before he turned to an obviously excited Jim. "Jim, this is a very bad idea to go out there on water testing some crazy thing like that."

Jim laughed. "They're just shoes, Bones."

"Shoes that make you float!" Scotty said, proudly.

"See? Shoes that'll make me float. What's the worst that can happen?"

He could think of several possibilities. "Oh, I don't know, but drowning is number one on my list right now!"

"I won't drown, Bones! Jesus! Relax," Jim urged him. "Have some wine and watch me not even get wet in a river! Though, if I do end up falling in, as my personal guard, it's up to you to rescue me." He winked at him and then walked to the very edge of the water. "Turn them on, Scotty!"

"Aye, sir." Scotty activated the shoes and Jim started to slowly rise from the ground. He steadied the prince as he grew accustomed to the weightlessness of the shoes' gravity resistance. "Balance is the key, Your Highness."

"This is awesome!" he marveled. "Okay, help me out the first few feet, then let me go." McCoy watched this ridiculously unwise experiment with uneasy eyes, not even taking them off Jim when he lifted the bottle of wine to his mouth, completely giving up on his glass! Bad idea. This had bad idea all over it.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"For ten minutes only, Pavel," Spock insisted. "But you must run ahead. When I catch up to you, we must go." They were already late bringing along the four baskets of strawberries to the market. They simply hadn't fit on the cart that Pike and Natasha had taken on ahead to set up their crops for sale. Spock had promised to arrive with an additional two baskets of berries with Pavel just to avoid the boy getting into trouble with the Viscount for not being fast enough at harvesting them. He would take any punishment for the boy, even if it meant that he had to double his own chores to let Pavel enjoy some of his childhood.

Even if it meant being a little later than they already were because Pavel wanted to cool off in the river. The boy was very flushed and red from being in the sun so long. The cool water would do him good. And so Spock had watched Pavel run off along the trail, looking for a steady part of the river so that he wouldn't be swept away by a current. As the boy ran, every once in a while a berry would fall from his baskets. There was no way that Spock could possibly carry all four of them. But he did stoop down to pick up the dropped strawberries as he followed Pavel's path and added them to his own baskets. He wondered if Pavel Chekov-Pike had purposefully coaxed the berries from his basket so that it would force Spock to take longer to meet up with him again. He would not put it past the child.

It took him only four and a half minutes to reach the spot that Pavel had turned off the path and to the river. He followed his tracks easily enough, and about halfway to the water Pike's son had put his strawberries close to a tree trunk. Spock sighed and left the path, crouching down to put some of the berries that now overflowed his own baskets back into Pavel's where they belonged.

After he'd gotten all of that situated to his satisfaction, he heard a sharp cry, and knew it immediately. "Pavel!" he shouted. A second later, he'd abandoned the baskets and ran to the river.

He heard the splashing long before he saw it, and someone shouting angrily, too. "Damnit, Jim! I knew this was a shit idea!" Two grown men were clumsily splashing and running in the river towards the commotion further out. Spock looked and saw Pavel stubbornly refusing help from the man near him, but seemed intact. And the man…Spock threw himself against the nearest tree trunk. The man was Prince James! He dared not reveal himself, not looking like this, like the servant instead of the lord the prince had met yesterday. He peered around the trunk just to make sure Pavel was alright. Now his problem was how to get the boy back and on their way.

"Little laddie!" shouted a strangely accented man. Spock recognized him from the courtyard when the prince had demanded his name. "Are ye alright?"

"Yeah," Pavel said, coughing a little. The man threw a blanket over him and hurriedly began drying the boy's hair.

"And you, Jim!" the last man said heatedly, pointing an angry finger in the prince's face. Spock was stunned that someone was able to behave like that to the prince. "Next time you decide to prance around defying physics like that send someone else to risk death and drowning!"

The prince had sat down on the rock where an assortment of food and drink had been laid out. Clearly the men had been here for a little while. "Bones, I hardly think that just falling into some water is risking death."

The man the prince called 'Bones' crouched down beside the prince, not even bothering to lower his voice. He pointed at the mechanical devices attached to the prince's boots. "And what if those things short-circuited or something and electrocuted you? What would I say to Their Majesties?"

"That I decided not to marry anyone, for a start."

Bones's face went from angry to subdued frustration. "That's not very damn funny, Jim."

"It could be," the prince argued half-heartedly. He managed to detach one of the strange devices and set it down next to him.

"Come here and see these!" With those words and the fact that Pavel looked right at him, Spock admitted that he had no choice but to reveal himself. All he was unspeakably grateful for was that Pavel had somehow not used his name.

"Where're ye speakin' to, lad?"

"Him," Pavel said, simply, gesturing to Spock.

All of the adult men turned in his direction, but only one of them actually moved. His smile transformed his face. "Sybok!" Jim cried, trying to stand before he'd fully gotten the other device from his boot. He ended up stumbling, then standing on one foot as he viciously wrestled it off and carelessly tossed it aside. A moment later, Prince James stood before him, his clothing, hair, and skin dripping wet and glistening in the sunlight.

Spock didn't know what to do. He was a servant. Servants threw themselves to the ground before royalty. But the prince had addressed him by the name he'd provided him with, and that was the name of a lord. Lords bowed. Spock closed his eyes and imitated the bow he'd seen the Viscount deliver on countless occasions. "Your Highness," he returned the greeting. When he lifted his eyes to meet the prince's he found them shining like the water on his skin.

Spock had no idea what to say to him. What could he say? Anything that he could find to talk about would give himself away.

Then, the prince's eyes shifted to something behind Spock. He nodded in that direction. "Are those your berries?"

He'd seen them, then. "Yes."

"You eat that many at once?" he asked Spock, sweeping his eyes quickly over the Vulcan's figure. He noticed the red stains on his knees and the tips of his fingers, noticed the dirt on his clothing. "Do you pick them, too?" Jim had never picked strawberries. Vulcans obviously did. He wondered if T'Pring picked her own fruits.

"I assist the child at times," Spock said, feeling that it was acceptable to bend the strict truth just a little. "It is something that I enjoy."

Jim smiled at Sybok. After an entire day of searching for him, then having an endless parade of women and men thrown at him as potential partners, followed by a hopeless rant about marrying the wrong person, here was the very one for whom he'd searched since meeting him in the courtyard of the palace. He wanted to keep him near him as long as he could today, and hopefully longer than yesterday. His mind scrambled for a reason – any reason – to tempt Sybok. "We've already started on a small lunch, but you're more than welcome to join us."

"I cannot. The boy's father will worry and—" Spock replied, keeping his expression neutral.

Jim laughed to himself. Did he offend this Vulcan somehow that made him want to be away from him? How cruel would that be that the one with whom he wanted to spend time wanted nothing to do with him? "Is that boy one of your servants?" Sybok said nothing. "Surely he'd understand his son's absence because the prince asked for your company." If he had to use his royal privilege to keep Sybok from running again, so be it. He was about to be married to a complete stranger, and this Vulcan made his mind come alive like no one ever had. It may be selfish, but he wanted as much time with Sybok as he could get until the week was out.

Spock had no argument for that, and no way to refuse. He only hoped it would not delay their arrival overly long at the market. "If that is your command, Highness."

"It's not a command. It's just a request." Jim felt that he had to specify the difference. He didn't want him to feel coerced to having a simple meal with him. Then, again, maybe it would be good practice for whatever his marriage turned into.

Spock recognized that the prince had given him a way out of accepting. He could fetch Pavel, pick up their berries, and head to the market peacefully. But, what if the prince followed them and saw him as he truly was – not the Vulcan lord he'd led the prince to believe? But that was not the reason for his answer. "Then, I accept your request, Your Highness."

He accepted it because he wanted to.

~X~X~X~X~X~

After they'd all finished the rest of the small meal they'd set out, McCoy and Scotty seemed to have an unspoken understanding on what to do. The boy that had accompanied the Vulcan had been eyeing up those troublesome mechanical shoes ever since Jim had torn them from his feet. Scotty took the opportunity to distract the young boy by taking one of them apart slowly and explaining the components to the clearly enthralled youngster, making sure to leave plenty of time for any question he might have. The more the boy talked and stayed interested in the shoe and its circuitry, the longer the prince had to speak with the mysterious Vulcan on his own. Although, to be honest, Scotty was impressed with the servant boy's ability to understand what he was explaining to him. He was a sharp young lad.

McCoy, on the other hand, had found himself in the role of wait-staff. He cleared their food and wine from their claimed rock and took it back to the cart. He purposefully did this as slowly as possible, which meant only one to two items per trip as he cleared. The only thing he left alone were the baskets of the strawberries. They belonged to the Vulcan anyway.

Not to mention that Jim was still slowly nibbling on them as he spoke with their guest. He'd reach to his right blindly, never taking his attention from Sybok, grab a berry then slowly bite into it, like the sound of chewing the fruit would make him miss a word. McCoy shook his head at the sight. Jim should be looking for a replacement for T'Pring. To reject her for some other Vulcan he couldn't even find in the databases of Terra would be the height of disrespect and insult to her and her family. He knew he should discourage this. But when he heard Jim laugh or saw him smile at Sybok, he knew that he didn't have a heart cold enough to put a stop to it.

After a while, he stayed up by the horses and waited, wondering how long the Vulcan would stay this time before he ran.

"So, he's the son of the servant you raised such a fuss about yesterday?" Jim asked, clarifying Sybok's statement.

"He is. I did not inform you of his child because it was not the only reason for my reclaiming him."

"So, your goal was to mock my father's laws, then." He tried to present a teasing smile. Most Vulcans didn't understand what teasing meant.

When a faint green blush spread on Sybok's pale cheeks, Jim realized that this one did understand teasing. He'd never seen a Vulcan blush before, and he had succeeded in making one do it. "I admit it was not my intention to criticize His Majesty."

"But you did it so well. And, to be frank, there are plenty of things that need improvement." He reached for another berry, noting that his hands were now beginning to stain red at the fingertips.

"If you are aware of this, then why have you not taken steps to introduce changes?"

He widened his eyes at Sybok. "I can't do that until I come into the throne."

"It would not harm you to try to establish those beginnings. Could you not introduce policies that would be the seeds of change?"

Jim looked back at Sybok's stained and dusty clothing. "Says the one who picks strawberries with a servant boy." He'd said something wrong. He knew it by the way Sybok stiffened where he sat. "There's nothing wrong with that or anything," he tried to backtrack. "I've never done any of that kind of thing, but I respect that someone does."

Furious brown eyes turned to him. "You respect them enough that you willingly would stand aside as they are sold and separated from their families, never to see them again? If you respect those who fetch your food for you, then you would do what you could to ensure that those people were cared for instead of letting them be treated as less than they are."

"That's not what I meant," Jim tried to say, but stopped as Sybok rose to his feet, softly calling for the boy who'd accompanied him. This was not how he wanted this to end this time. It had gone so well! "Wait, Sybok!" he said, reaching to take the Vulcan's arm.

But Sybok evaded his grasp and those furious eyes found his again. "I may not have your privileges and authority, but I do not disregard those who have helped me prosper. I take pride in something as simple as a successful yield of crops because it helps to ensure that the estate does not fall into disrepair and ruin." Then, abruptly, the anger left him. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I have spoken out of turn. I apologize."

The only thing audible was the river. In that silence, Jim took Sybok in. His head was lowered and he seemed so very sad in that instant. How this Vulcan could be this remarkably easy to read emotionally was a mystery to Jim, but one that he did not mind remaining unsolved. That he could tell what Sybok felt was more than enough. "I can't forgive an offense you've never committed," he said.

Sybok nodded then turned away from him. "Come," he said to the boy, who obediently stood and dusted himself off. "Get your baskets. We must go."

"Sybok," Jim said his name softly. "Thank you."

The slant of those eyebrows grew steeper as he gave him a puzzled expression. "For what?"

Jim wanted so badly to touch him, but knew that Vulcans abhorred contact casually. He was never more grateful for paying attention when the royal family had been briefed on etiquette towards Vulcans. Perhaps his actions could ease the mistakes he made with his words. He offered Sybok a gentle smile. "For advising me on a few ideas on what kind of changes I should think about making." The reaction from Sybok – unsettledness – was not the one he'd hoped for. Perhaps he needed to elaborate. "That, and for—" Could he actually say something like that to a Vulcan? But Sybok wasn't like any other Vulcans he'd met.

"And for?" Sybok prompted him.

Jim spoke before he'd really thought about any kind of consequence to his words. "For being so fascinating to me."

Sybok lowered his gaze to the ground again. One of the city's bells rang loudly – the sound carrying all the way to their isolated location. Sybok's head came up like the bell had awoken him from sleeping. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I must go." He bent to pick up the remaining two baskets of berries and began to walk away.

Jim watched only for a moment, then remembered what he had done wrong. It was the same mistake he'd made yesterday. He failed to arrange a next meeting. He called out to Sybok. "I'll be sparring with Klashausu Solen tomorrow at noon. Will you come watch?"

"I must go," Sybok responded, glancing back as he reached the trail.

He didn't know what exactly Sybok meant by the reply – whether he looked forward to seeing the sparring match, or if he meant he had to leave their picnic in that moment. He almost didn't care which because even from the small distance between them when the Vulcan glanced back to him, Jim's mind was distracted by the green blush on Sybok's cheeks.

~X~X~X~X~X~

The first time he walked past the open door to the library, he hadn't noticed. But the second time, Spock saw that the display box that usually contained the ka'athyra did not contain the instrument. When he had been very young, his mother had once told him that she and Sarek had played often, especially during their courtship. To see that it was absent from his proud display case felt like a blow to Spock.

He did not speak of it, or ask the Viscount where it might be for fear of the answer. But it did not stop him from asking someone else. "Christopher," he said quietly, as he brought the tray of soups up the stairs to the dining room. "Do you know what has happened to the ka'athyra?"

Pike followed him with the small bowls of salads on a separate tray. "No," he admitted. "But I noticed a few other things are missing, too."

Pavel followed both of them with a small dish of the accompanying olive and rosemary bread and butter. "I bet the Viscount will blame all of us for it."

"Shh, Pav," his father hushed him. "Keep silent unless you're asked a question. Do you understand?" Pavel nodded. "And not a word about anything that happened with you-know-who this afternoon with the berries and the floating shoes, right?" Again, Pavel nodded. The Pike family was determined to repay Spock for rescuing Christopher by any means necessary, especially if it meant lying to the Viscount and his daughters. They would sooner face repercussions themselves than see Spock come to harm for doing what he did for them.

By the time they entered the dining room, the conversation between Janice and the Viscount had clearly been going on for a while. Carol, as usual, remained silent. "—why he's even bothering to learn anything about Vulcan culture when he's not going to marry one."

"Janice, dear," the Viscount said patiently, "Prince James must still present the appearance of planetary cooperation with Vulcan. For all we know, the royal family hasn't made it public knowledge to many that the prince is seeking a Terran bride to replace the Vulcan."

Janice rolled her eyes. "The Vulcan bitch, you mean."

Carol closed her eyes at her sister's words, then flicked her gaze to Spock who placed her soup in front of her. "Thank you," she whispered. Spock offered her the smallest of smiles in response. He could not verbally reply.

"There is no reason to be vulgar, Janice," the Viscount admonished, his tone just barely hardening. "Though she probably is one if she's driven the prince to desperately look for someone else so close to their wedding."

Janice held her glass up, and Pike went to fill it with wine. Janice had taken to drinking wine suddenly. She loudly announced that she should get used to drinking wine if she was to be a princess. Royalty drank expensive wine like peasants drank their dirty water, according to her. As soon as her glass was filled, she shooed Pike away with a wave of her free hand. "Although, for being so against Vulcans, he seems to hang around quite a few of them," she said nastily, the distaste clear in her tone.

"He does still have to speak to the delegation, though, doesn't he?" Carol blurted out before she could stop herself. Both the Viscount and Janice stopped and stared at her. Whenever Carol spoke at meals they seemed to remember her existence.

"That is true, I suppose," the Viscount agreed, after recovering from the surprise of Carol opening her mouth for something other than eating during a meal.

Janice scowled into her soup, tearing apart her bread viciously. "I want to know who everyone was talking about when they mentioned a Vulcan that the prince nearly fell off his horse so that he could talk to him."

Spock stiffened where he stood between Pike and Pavel. He quickly controlled his tension and tried desperately to relax. He glanced down at Pavel, who looked up at him – the knowledge of their family secret shining in his eyes. He understood quickly, though, why Spock would be so nervous. As quickly as the mischief in Pavel's eyes appeared, the boy managed to make it vanish again.

"I wouldn't worry too much, my dear," the Viscount tried to reassure his daughter. "He is searching for a bride, after all, not a husband. A prince needs children, and for that, a woman. So we will not concern ourselves with any male – whatever species – the prince spends time with. We need to worry about the women around him, and make sure that the only one near him is you. Give him one option to work with, and the crown will be yours, Janice."

Janice smiled satisfactorily to herself, gleefully sipping her soup from the spoon.

The words the Viscount said had the opposite effect on Spock. The prince did need heirs, and he knew that as a male he most definitely did not fit the criteria. He wondered what he thought he was doing, spending time with a prince, risking punishment like he did.

"Did you hear what else was being said among everyone today, father?" Carol asked, surprising everyone again by speaking, but determined to contribute to conversation. "The king announced a new order."

"No," the Viscount admitted. "What did it say?"

Spock swallowed nervously. Surely he did not. He waited for Carol to enlighten everyone. "That the selling of one's servants is strictly forbidden." He did. Spock could barely breathe. "Personal property is to be sold if any estate is in financial difficulty. That all productive estates and manors have a duty to their King, and they can't be productive without the help of the servants."

"What nonsense!" Janice exclaimed.

"Has His Majesty gone mad?" the Viscount rhetorically asked. "As if we'd sell our possessions."

Spock could not believe what Carol had said. Had the prince actually taken his angry words to heart? Evidence seemed to indicate that he did. Spock struggled to keep his joy and pride from showing in his expression. He only had to look at Janice to achieve it. He watched Janice sip her wine. Spock had shared wine with a prince that afternoon, accompanied by Spock's own harvest of strawberries and a Scottish engineer's beloved Inverloch cheese. The food had been too simple for someone like Janice, but for Spock it was one of the finest meals he'd ever eaten.

Later, when he was helping Pike clean the kitchen area, the man gave him a fond sideways glance. "Looks like someone made an impression, Spock." He winked at the young half-Vulcan, and Spock felt his cheeks heat again.

Then, he understood that was why he'd accepted the prince's invitation for the meal in the first place. Because he'd been able to keep pretending that he was worth more than the treatment his stepfamily dealt him, he'd been worth speaking to, worth acknowledging, worth someone's time. Spock had been worth a prince's time.

For the first time since his mother's death, by the river, Spock had been happy. But he knew it could never be. He was only a servant, after all. And royalty never married servants. But it would not stop Spock from living such a scenario in his dreams.

**End Note:** _Hope everyone is still enjoying this story. Leave your thoughts on the way out. Thank you! ~ RK _


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